After Midnight
by Neurotic Temptress
Summary: AU. Rogue and Remy as successful recording artists. How hard is it to shoot down a star?
1. Reminiscing

**Disclaimer:** All of this is Marvel's; we get nothing. Even though we're giving them free publicity by writing about all their characters. I wonder if they know that... maybe we should tell them... 

**A/N:** This is my first fan fiction in seven years, and the first I have ever posted publicly. So be gentle with me, I'm a rookie! Comments and creative criticism are more than welcome!   


**CHAPTER 1   
Reminiscing**

She woke up groggily to the incessant ringing of the bedside telephone. The shrill sound pierced through her dream-laden sleep and refused to leave her alone. Uttering a curse under her breath, she reached across the bed and felt for the receiver. 

"Mmmelllo?" 

"It's time to get up, darling," the voice on the other end said. "Your appointments start at seven this morning." 

She swore again before asking, "Timezzz it?" It was too bleeding early in the day to actually be coherent. 

"Five o'clock." She could her the echoing buzz of a hairdryer in the background. "I'm leaving in a little while. I want you bathed, dressed and out the door in thirty minutes. Hair and make-up will be waiting at the television studio. Are the boys up yet?" 

She strained to hear the familiar sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. "Mmmm..." 

"They didn't keep you out too late again, did they? I explicitly told them that you needed to get some sleep. But do they ever listen? No, of course not. You'd think…" 

The comfort and warmth of her bed was simply too inviting to ignore. She sighed and sank deeper into the pillows as her wake-up call continued on with the tirade. She was halfway between consciousness and sleep when... 

"Rogue!" came the sharp rebuke in her ear. 

She immediately sprang to attention. "Ah'm up, Momma, Ah'm up." 

"Are you _really_ up? Or are you just saying that when you're actually still lounging in bed?" Raven Darkholme asked, expelling some of the sternness in her voice but still keeping her tone firm. 

Just to prove her mother wrong, Rogue jumped out of bed and made her way into the bathroom. "Ah'm _really_ up," she confirmed, turning on the hot water to the shower. "Ah'm up an' Ah'm hittin' th' shower right now." 

"All right, good. I'll see you in the studio in half an hour, darling." 

"Half an hour," Rogue dutifully replied and then hung up. _That's mah momma fo' ya,_ she thought wryly, staring at the receiver in her hand. _Always checkin' ev'ry li'l detail an' makin' sure it all gets done._

_Well, Ah'm damn lucky ta have her._ She slipped out of her nightshirt and stepped under the steady beat of the water. _With all th' things that woman does fo' me, all th' schedulin' an' bookin', th' way she takes care o' me... damn lucky._

She picked up the bottle of apple-scented shampoo and poured some onto her palm. _'Course it wasn't jus' Momma who helped me get where Ah am right now. Ev'ryone in mah life -- good an' bad -- has in some way gotten me here._

Pausing for a minute, she let the warm water trickle down her scalp, easily rinsing out the shampoo suds without assistance. _Wasn't that long ago, was it, sugah?_ She slowly closed her eyes and remembered. 

She was eight years old at the time. Supposedly young and naïve, too innocent to know anything about the world; blissfully ignorant of its harshness. But that wasn't her life. That was _never_ her life. 

Her life consisted of a dead mother at the age of three, and a physically abusive father who took all of his frustrations at the world out on his little girl. She could hardly remember a time when he wasn't beating her, or when he didn't have some form of cheap liquor in his hand. For the first eight years, that had been her life. Day after day of abuse. And day after day of her justifying her father's actions as acts of love and concern for her well-being. He hit her because she had done something wrong. He slapped her because she gave him 'a look.' He beat her because he wanted her to be good. And this continued on until one day Daddy came home drunk... and stoned. 

She had been asleep in her bed, waking up to the sound of her father stumbling in the kitchen and calling out her name. As quickly as she could, she made her way down to the other side of the house, only to be greeted by the sight of her father wielding one of their butcher knives and wearing a malevolent grin on his face. He began spewing out incomprehensible statements of demons and justice, and how he had a duty to purge the world of 'her filthy soul.' She had always been scared during those times that her father beat her, but at that moment, as he came closer and closer bearing the knife, she was terrified. She turned on her heel and rushed through the backdoor, plunging into the cold, bitter night with nothing but her flimsy pajamas on, never to look back again. 

She soon found herself at the local train station; one of the few places in town that was open twenty-four hours and that could provide warmth for a now-runaway eight-year-old. She had no idea what she was going to do; she had no money, no food, and no clothes. She pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her head against her knees and began to cry. 

A few moments later, she jerked up as someone rested their hand on her shoulder. Thinking that her father had found her and was now going to make good on his 'duty to the world,' she started to run. 

"Wait," a soft, motherly voice said, freezing her in place. "I didn't mean to startle you, sweetheart. Please don't be scared." 

The child turned back to see the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She had straight, jet-black hair that ended just above her waist; pale, porcelain-looking skin, and refined facial features that looked as if they had been taken off of the visage of a collector's doll. Her eyes were a strange honey color that appeared almost yellow in the sterile fluorescent light of the station. 

She had just been on her way home, the stranger told her, and she was wondering if she had a place to stay. 

Remembering her lessons from school -- how you should never talk to strangers -- the young girl was about to politely decline when she realized she had nowhere else to go. She couldn't very well stay in the train station. Once the morning came and the regular staff of employees reported for work, they would recognize her and would no doubt haul her back to her father's house. She shivered at the thought. Turning back to her would-be savior, she tried to make up her mind. Which would be better: to return to an evil she did know, or to go forth into a possible evil that she didn't know? 

Slowly, and with unsteady fingers, she reached out to take the woman's hand. Little did she know that simple action was the start of an entirely different life for her. 

_Ah started believin' in fate aftah that, Ah think,_ Rogue thought as she conditioned her auburn locks. _Aftah all, Raven wasn't even s'pposed ta be there that night. It was all jus' a coincidence, her car breakin' down like that. She stopped by th' train station ta get a bite ta eat while she waited fo' th' mechanic ta get his behind outta bed._

'Home' turned out to be a two-bedroom house in the woods, about two miles outside of town. It was in no way a grand-scale residence, but to Rogue it was certainly warmer than her father's house, in more ways than one. She later learned that Raven was merely renting what she dubbed 'the cabin,' and that she and Irene -- whom Rogue met the following morning -- were actually from New York. 

The trio remained in Mississippi for the next several months; both to give Raven time to finish with some business she had, and to let Rogue become accustomed to living with them. 

Rogue's transition from an abusive home life to a safe, loving environment wasn't exactly an easy one. The first couple of weeks she spent jumping at the smallest sound; convinced that she would be hit because a glass had tipped over, or because Irene had accidentally dropped a fork. By the second month, she had relented some, but was still apologizing profusely for the slightest mistake she would make. Now, after three months of patience, understanding and outwardly-expressed love, she had begun to trust them. And though her jumpy behavior still remained, it had significantly lessened. 

The move to New York was like an adventure in itself for Rogue. She had never been to a city before and all the sights and sounds fascinated her. The subway was a particular point of interest; well, sure they had trains in Mississippi, but they never ran _underground!_ Central Park reminded her of the nature back home, only with different types of trees and animal life. But nothing had prepared her for the absolute awe and wonder she would feel on the day Raven and Irene took her to see the Statue of Liberty. Standing at the base of it, straining her neck back until Irene feared she would snap it, she gazed up at the national monument. To the little girl, it looked bigger than huge, bigger than enormous. It looked... gargantuous -- she was pretty sure she was using the word wrong, but at that moment she couldn't have cared less about her grammar. 

Over the course of the next six months, Rogue slowly began to come out of her shell. She had yet to become the social butterfly of her third grade class, but at least now she didn't shy away from the people around her, and her apologetic behavior had all but vanished. 

Oddly enough, it was Rogue who took the first step toward her career. Nearly a year after living with her foster parents, she saw an ad in the newspaper for a singing contest. Having no prior knowledge that the child even knew how to sing, Irene and Raven reluctantly consented. However, since she was a minor, she needed to have the permission of and be accompanied by a parent or guardian. Legally speaking, Raven and Irene were neither. Although she could think of a million other things that she would like to have done rather than speak with Rogue's worthless father, Raven agreed to fly down to Mississippi and talk him into allowing them to adopt Rogue. Upon returning from her trip south, Raven brought home the disturbing news that Rogue's father had died a few months back, after getting into a bar fight with another local drunkard. The couple was now free to adopt their foster daughter. 

After that first singing contest -- in which she placed fifth -- the performing bug hit Rogue hard. She soon became involved in the school choir, the church choir -- although their family was not that religious -- the drama club, the dance club, and just about anything else that dealt with performing in front of an audience. And at every chance she got, she would join contests and competitions. As she became a better, more well rounded performer, she began to win more and more competitions, and her confidence in her craft grew. 

Following three years of honing her skills as a performer, Rogue found herself at a statewide audition that would change her life yet again. It was here that she met Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe. While waiting in line for their turn to audition, the three young women struck up a casual conversation. By the end of the day, they had exchanged phone numbers and had made plans to go shopping the following day. The trio became fast friends and were soon inseparable. 

Ororo, the eldest and a freshman in college, was the serious one of the group. She would appear to be regal and sophisticated to others, the very epitome of elegance, but when with her friends, she possessed the wildest sense of humor. 

Jean, a high school junior, was the typical girl-next-door; she was sweet, kind and a very generous person, both with material things and her attention. Like Ororo, people tended to underestimate her, and therefore they would miss the naughtier, more wicked side to her personality. 

Rogue, being the youngest with one more year of junior high left, never felt out of place or inferior to the two older girls. It simply wasn't in their friendship to take into consideration their age differences. They merely concentrated on all the things they had in common, one of which was singing. 

_Ah guess that's what people call "th' good ol' days."_

She finished rinsing off a few wayward soapsuds just as a knock sounded at the bathroom door. 

"Ya almost done, darlin'?" a gruff voice asked from her bedroom. "We only got ten minutes 'til yer mother starts callin' an' demandin' ta know when we plan ta get a move on." 

"Ah'll be out inna second, Logan," she answered, wrapping a soft terrycloth robe around her body. _Those may have been th' good ol' days,_ she thought as she towel-dried her hair, _but Ah think Ah'm havin' just as much fun now!_

With that thought, she opened the door, more than ready to face another long day. 

---- 

**A/N:** So whatcha think? I honestly didn't think it would be this long. I wanted to get all of Rogue's background into the first introductory chapter but I think I got cared away a bit, so there's a little more to follow. I have parts for nearly every X-Man but I'd love to hear who you think should make an appearance. Drop me a line and let me know! :) 


	2. The Interview

**Disclaimer:** It's all Marvel's... dirty, rotten, stinky, selfish company... doesn't wanna share with the other little kiddies in the group...

**A/N:** Okay... so I was kind of tense about posting the first chapter the other day that I forgot to comment on a few things:  
1) I have no formal musical training whatsoever. Anything that I write in this fic is based purely on what I see and hear on television and radio, and stems from an honest-to-goodness love of music in general. If there are any slip-ups and goofs it's probably because there was a gap in my knowledge and I filled that up with a hearty dose of imagination. My apologies if I screw up _really_ bad.  
2) They're not mutants, just ordinary people. Though I tried to keep them as close to the real thing as I possibly could, ex. Raven having honey-colored eyes that look almost yellow. But there are some things that I'll have to twist a little. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for Remy's eyes to be red-on-black, so I made them brown which is the color they always make 'em when the colorist makes a mistake, or when he and Jean infiltrated that OZT base.  
3) You'll notice that I didn't make Raven red-haired and blue-skinned either. I based her appearance on X-Men Unlimited #4 where she shifted into a raven-haired woman when she met Rogue.  
4) To the people that reviewed, thanks so much for the kind words! You really made my day! And to sensor girl, I thought Bish would make a great bodyguard, too… for the right person. ; )

~ Tell me what you think! : )

**CHAPTER 2  
The Interview**

"Good mornin', Sam," Rogue called cheerfully to her regular driver as he held the car door open for her.

"Good mornin', Ms. Rogue."

Samuel Guthrie grinned at his employer. He loved working for her; she was one of the nicest people he knew -- and that was saying a lot for someone who was in the music business. Most of his former bosses were down right nasty, even to the people they considered their friends. The term 'diva complex' took on a whole new meaning when you had to work for the stars day in and day out.

"Thought ya might like some coffee," she said, handing him a slim, silver thermos, before sliding into the backseat of the car. "Careful though, sugah, it's hot."

He flashed her another smile as a sign of thanks. How many other employers would think to bring out an extra serving of coffee for their drivers? he wondered. Sam was pretty sure the numbers weren't going to be very high. Nope, Ms. Rogue was one of a kind. She even insisted that he drop the 'Ms.' part whenever he addressed her, but being a homegrown southern boy, he found that a little difficult to do.

"All set fo' th' big 'A.M. Show' interview?" he asked her once he was settled behind the wheel and pulling out of the long driveway.

"Ah think so," she replied, allowing a lopsided grin to creep across her soft features. "Aftah all, Ah don' havta do much, right? Jus' sit there an' look pretty?"

It was an old joke in Rogue's inner circle that the publicity interviews, though essential to promotion and record sales, were really just hair, makeup and the chance for the audience to see whether or not she grew fat during the months since her last tour. If she were given a choice, she would skip them altogether; she preferred being in the studio or performing in front of a live audience. But it was part of the job so she took it in stride. Besides, it was a good opportunity to discuss the meaning and feelings behind the music, as well as giving proper credit to all those who worked with her on the album.

"Fifty bucks says that yer mother's gonna swoop down on us like a hawk the second we get there an' ask why the hell we're late," Logan stated from beside Rogue. He turned to the man in the passenger's seat. "What d'ya say, Guido?"

"Do I look like an idiot, shorty?" the big Italian man asked. "When I got outta the house, the phone started ringing. Didn't even bother to head back in and answer it; could only be her."

Rogue grinned at her two bodyguards. Everyone knew that Raven was a perfectionist, but no one knew it better than these two men. Aside from being responsible for her all-around safety, they were also in charge of making sure she was on time for all of her engagements. And although they were the best of the best and always fulfilled their duties to a tee, Raven would make it a point to give them a sharp tongue-lashing at least once a week.

"C'mon, y'all, she ain't that bad."

A collective groan was heard throughout the car.

"You're right, kid, she ain't that bad," said Guido, turning in his seat to face her. "She's _worse."_

She playfully swatted the headrest of his chair. "Oh, stop."

Guido simply smirked in her direction and then turned back to watch the road. She knew that he was only joking about Raven's behavior and that he didn't mean anything by his remarks. That was Guido for you; always had a wisecrack ready at the tip of his tongue. He was really more of a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Not very serious at all.

Logan, on the other hand, seemed to be nothing but serious at first glance. He was a short, gruff man who seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. But Rogue knew that underneath that feral exterior, he was a sweetheart. He was like the proverbial overprotective, big brother who kept her away from all the dangers of the world. He fell into the role so well that at times she wanted to shake him and tell him to relax before he suffocated her.

"Darlin'," Logan said, softly nudging her and bringing her out of her thoughts. He gave a slight jerk of his chin. "We're here."

She nodded and watched as first Guido, then Logan, and finally Sam exited the car. It was 'standard procedure,' as they liked to call it. That always made her smile; it sounded as if they were on a covert mission for a special ops division of the government, instead of just escorting her inside the building. She knew that Guido was standing just outside his door on the right side of the vehicle, while Logan would come around and open her door, thereby sandwiching her in between the two men. Sam stayed by his door to make sure no one tried to jump into the car through Logan's side.

Surprisingly enough, considering the early morning hour, there was already a crowd of people gathered around the studio's entrance. Once they caught sight of Rogue, they began chanting her name and screaming for autographs. Regretting that she could only accommodate a few, she quickly scribbled her name on everything from pieces of paper to body parts before Guido and Logan pulled her into the building. Once inside, Raven immediately descended upon them with a disapproving look on her face.

"And where exactly have the three of you been?" she demanded, ushering Rogue to one corner in the back of the studio, leaving the two men to follow.

As soon as the young singer was settled in front of the illuminated vanity, Logan caught her gaze and gave her a look that clearly said, 'I told you so.' She snickered at his unspoken comment but quickly composed herself as the show's stylist went to work on her face.

"Good morning, Rogue," a blonde woman greeted, coming up to them and extending her hand. "My name's Marsha Lewis; I'm one of the show's producers. I just wanted to come over and tell you a little about what's going to happen this morning."

"A pleasure ta meet you, Marsha," replied Rogue pleasantly. "Ah'm all ears, sugah."

"Well, you won't be on until around seven, after Amy is finished with the world news. That's still about an hour away so Suzanne here," she indicated the stylist busily applying foundation to Rogue's skin, "will have plenty of time to make you look gorgeous." She paused, checking the clipboard she was carrying with her. "We'll come out of commercial, Jeff will give a brief introduction, and then it's on to the back-and-forth portion. Any questions?"

"Ah don' think so."

"Can I get you anything in the meantime? Some breakfast? Coffee? Toast?"

"No thanks, sugah, Ah'm good. But thank you fo' th' offer."

"Well, if you need anything, please let me know. Now if you'll excuse me…" And with that Marsha was gone.

"What a fast broad, that producer-lady," Guido muttered when Suzanne left to get some water. "Seems like she couldn't get outta here quick enough."

"Leave her alone, Guido," Rogue scolded. "She's jus' got a lot on her plate right now. Speakin' o' which," she eyed the breakfast table behind them, "why don' ya get somethin' ta eat ovah there? Ah can see some donuts."

"Ya don't mind?"

"Nah, Logan's here. You go on."

He chucked her under the chin lightly. "You're a gem, kid, ya know that?" he said before he walked toward the food.

She smiled and waited for Suzanne to finish her makeup.

- oOo -

"Rise and shine, my young Cajun slave driver."

The long, heavy curtains were abruptly pushed aside, allowing the sun's soft kiss to penetrate what was, until seconds ago, a blissfully darkened room.

Remy LeBeau groaned audibly. It was no secret that he wasn't a morning person. If possible, he would skip them altogether and start the day off with the afternoon. So it was with a curse of displeasure that he grabbed a pillow and buried himself beneath it.

"Henri," he muttered loudly, "'M gon' kill you, ya know dat?"

"Aw, you don't mean that, now do you?" Hank McCoy cooed as he yanked the bedcovers down. "You're just a little cranky. This, my friend," he indicated the scene outside the window, "is what we _normal_ folk call 'morning.' It's an amazing phenomenon actually. It's followed directly by what we like to call the 'afternoon.' I believe you are familiar with this term."

"Changed m'mind," Remy declared, sitting up and rubbing a hand across his deep brown eyes. "Killin' is too good f'r ya. Maybe I'll jus' fire ya an' see how well ya get yaself t'rough med-school wit'out cash."

Hank raised a hand to the expression of mock surprise on his face. "My good sir, you wouldn't dare throw a lowly peasant out on his tush, would you?"

"Ya bet I would."

Hank smiled at his boss. Despite his harsh words and even harsher tone, he knew that Remy had no intention of dismissing him. They had known each other for four years now and had developed quite a close bond. Remy had even been his biggest supporter when he made the decision to continue on with medical school. Of course that idea had been put on hold for the meantime, what with the demands on Remy's hectic work schedule and all.

"Remind me again why 'm up dis early, _mon ami,"_ grumbled Remy as he slipped out of bed and headed for the shower.

"Because you just _loooovvveee_ mornings?"

A rather colorful expletive echoed from within the bathroom, followed by silence, and then the sound of running water.

Hank walked over to the desk and picked up the telephone, intent on having breakfast sent up. After ten minutes of debating the differences between sunnyside-up and over-easy eggs with the kitchen staff, their food was on its way. Just as he was replacing the receiver, Remy stepped out of the bathroom clad in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Our daily dose of early-morning sustenance will be arriving shortly. In the meantime, might I suggest we indulge in the reason for our break-of-dawn state of consciousness?"

Remy flashed him a grin, his eyes sparkling. "S'it time already?"

Hank picked up the remote control to the television set and switched it on. On the screen appeared a rather attractive brown-haired man, approximately in his early thirties. He was accompanied by an equally attractive blonde woman who didn't look more than twenty-something herself.

"Thank you for joining us," the man said to the camera. The show had obviously just come out of a commercial break. "We have a special in-studio guest this morning. Now this is a treat." He smiled at his co-host. "At the tender age of fourteen, she and two of her friends were offered a record deal with X-Gene Records. Their first project, a self-titled album called 'Midnight,' was released a year later. A successful string of promotional tours and record sales followed, and then a second album, 'Shiver,' was released eighteen months after." He consulted the notes in front of him. "However, the group subsequently disbanded following the promotion of their sophomore record for reasons that are, to this day, still talked about. Amazingly, in only six months after the break-up of Midnight, our guest was able to release her very first solo offering, entitled 'Step Away.'"

"That was a very successful album, Jeff," his co-anchor commented from beside him. "If I remember correctly, it earned her the record of 'Fastest-Selling Album by a Solo Female Artist.'"

"Yes, it did, Amy. All of that, and she's _only_ nineteen!" Jeff shook his head as if in disbelief. "She's here today to promote her latest project, 'Where Are You?' Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome singer/song writer, Rogue!"

The studio audience obediently broke into applause as the camera panned out to accommodate the singer seated at Jeff's right side.

Remy breathed in sharply. Even this early in the morning, the woman was beautiful. Her auburn hair, with its distinctive white streak, fell softly about her shoulders. Her large, mesmerizing eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted sunglasses, but he knew their emerald depths were enchanting. Her sweet, pouty lips were curved into a pleasant smile as she greeted the two hosts as well as the audience watching them. He could barely concentrate enough to follow the course of the ensuing conversation.

"Now, Rogue," Jeff began, turning to face her, "as I was just telling Amy, that's a lot to accomplish in such a short lifetime. You're only nineteen! According to American law, you're _barely_ legal, and still two years shy of the legal drinking age. And yet here you are, doing things kids your age only dream about."

She smiled again. "Ah've been very blessed. Fate's been good ta me."

"Now let's start at the beginning. You met your former bandmates, Jean and Ororo, seven years ago, I believe?"

"Yeah, it was at a New York audition an' all o' us were tryin' out. We clicked instantly fo' some reason. We were tagether constantly aftah that. Then one day we tried singin' tagether an' ev'ryone, includin' us, was surprised at how well our voices blended. From then on, we practiced as a group."

"I heard that you would accept every kind of job from birthday parties to clubs that you weren't even supposed to enter because of the age limit," said Amy.

"That's right," Rogue laughed. "Ah don' know how mah momma -- who's mah manager -- convinced them all ta let minors sing in their clubs. She's a wonder, that one."

"Tell us about the big record deal," prompted Jeff.

"Well, we were performin' in this upscale place in Manhattan -- 'Jerry's,' if Ah recall -- when a man came up ta us durin' our break an' introduced himself as a Mr. Charles Xavier of X-Gene Records. He asked us if we'd be int'rested in auditionin' fo' him th' followin' week. Honestly, we couldn't say yes fast enough!"

Jeff and Amy smiled encouragingly.

"Ya couldn't talk ta us two days before th' big audition; we were so nervous! But it all turned out good in th' end; we got th' deal. A few days later, th' girls an' Ah found out who Mr. Xavier was."

"The president of X-Gene Records," Jeff supplied.

"_Exactly_… imagine our su'prise."

"So what happened in that time from getting the contract to actually putting out the album?"

"Oh mah God, it was insane! They put us through what we called 'musician's boot camp.' Our days started before th' crack o' dawn an' most times ended well past midnight! We did it all: dance rehearsal, voice lessons, proper conduct, etiquette, studio sessions, _ev'rything!"_

"Sounds like you girls were steamrolled," commented Amy as she glanced at her notes once more. "So it's all going good: Midnight releases a hit record that's well received; promotion-wise, the label is happy -- enough to prompt them into churning out another record a year and a half later. Promotions, interviews, TV and radio appearances -- the whole nine yards."

Rogue nodded, but Remy noticed that her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, although the change was too slight to be caught by the audience.

"And then the breakup," Amy continued. "It was a shock to everyone. The entire country couldn't stop talking about it for months after it was announced. A musical act, seemingly on top of the world, suddenly disbanding for no apparent reason. Rumors were flying about, left and right. Mostly about how you," she gestured in Rogue's direction, "were becoming a snobby witch and developing delusions of grandeur."

Remy narrowed his eyes at her tone; it was far from pleasant, and completely disrespectful to Rogue as a guest on the show. He expected Rogue's temper to flare, but instead the half-smile made a second appearance.

"Ah'd hardly call Jean havin' a baby 'no apparent reason,' sugah," she said, evenly. "When we found out she was expectin', we all sat down an' talked about what we were gonna do. Jean really wanted ta start a family an' 'Ro an' Ah respected that; we were happy fo' her. Th' decision ta go our sep'rate ways was a _group_ decision." She smiled wryly. "All'a th' rumors that have been flyin' 'round are a buncha bull, truth be told."

"So there were never any connections to the Italian mafia? No contracts made to 'exterminate' ex-boyfriends? No love children with Elvis?"

Remy scoffed. Were these people serious? What reality were they living in?

A knock at the hotel room door brought his attention away from the interview.

"Room service!" a voice called.

Remy watched as Hank, ever the dutiful bodyguard, stood to answer the door. He returned a few moments later pushing a cloth-covered cart. Wordlessly, he uncovered one platter and held it out to Remy. The younger man accepted it with a grin and asked, "Ya pick a fight wit' de kitchen 'gain, Henri?"

"Well, if they'd only figure out how to make a decent over-easy egg I wouldn't have to!"

Remy couldn't help but laugh. It was like that in every single hotel they stayed in, from sea to blessed shining sea. Hank was very meticulous with his food, particularly his breakfast eggs. And God help the man who messed with Henry McCoy's Twinkies.

He turned back to the television where Rogue was now talking about her yet-to-be-released sophomore album. "She somet'in' else, ain' she?"

Hank pretended to scrutinize the pretty, young brunette. "Well, she could lose the white streak, for one. Maybe dye her hair black, cut it to about shoulder-length. Add a few pounds here and there. Oh, and definitely change careers. Maybe journalism or a newscaster for the nightly news in New York. Then she _might_ have some possi-- "

A precisely thrown pillow caught him in the head.

"We ain' talkin' 'bout Trish Tilby here!"

Hank chuckled. "In that case, my temperamental Cajun friend, she's perfect… for you." He chewed thoughtfully on his breakfast before asking, "Are you sure you're up for another hard day?"

Remy flashed him a lopsided grin. He knew that Hank had concerns about his health. Who could blame him really, when you considered the strenuous, not too mention _long_ hours that they kept when on tour. It consisted of waking up anywhere from seven to ten o'clock in the morning; making local television and radio appearances until late afternoon; going through sound checks and last minute updates and changes; and then finally show time at around nine p.m., where he would play and sing his heart out for a full hour and a half. Then it was immediately onto the tour bus and away to the next city, which was usually about a two to three hour ride. On a good day, if he was lucky, he could get four or five hours of sleep before the entire process started again the following day.

But despite all this, he knew that -- if given a choice -- he wouldn't trade his life for anything. _Dis tour stuff,_ he thought, biting at a strip of bacon, _dis be not'in' compared t'what I went t'rough as a pup. Now, dat dere was some hard times._

He had been abandoned in a dumpster behind the hospital. It was by pure coincidence that one of the night nurses braved the chilly winter air to smoke a cigarette. Had she not been there, the month-old infant would have surely died of pneumonia.

Everyone loved him in the pediatric wing; he had every female on the floor in love with him within twenty-four hours. He was placed in the most comfortable crib and positioned in what the nurses called 'the corner with a view.' It didn't have a view really, but it was the best spot in the nursery; far enough from the air conditioning vent so as not to be drafty and yet close enough to be cool. He couldn't remember all of this, of course, but that was what he'd been told. When he became older, he befriended some of the old nurses in the hospital and they'd been more than happy to share their memories with him.

Since no one had come to claim him after a month of being in the hospital, social services came and placed him in an orphanage. It wasn't a particularly happy place for him. They were always shipping him from one foster home to another, only to be returned a few months later. Finally, he'd had enough and had simply ran away from the orphanage. With nowhere else to go, he took up residence with a gang of street urchins known as Fabian's Mob. They weren't exactly the best influence on an impressionable seven year old, but at least he wasn't starving and sleeping between dumpsters.

Fabian's little band of hustlers taught him the essentials to surviving the mean streets of New Orleans. They showed him which hangouts were most frequented by unsuspecting tourists, and which were swarming with cops; they tutored him on the art of pick-pocketing and thieving; and they instructed him on how to charm a potential victim into thinking they had nothing to suspect from the 'poor Cajun boy.' It was a hard life, but a good one. Or so he thought.

He had been out 'working' with Louis that day. It had been a slow morning and they had decided to split up; 'to make better ground,' Louis had said. After three hours of swiping only ten dollars and a cheesy gold watch, Remy was about to head back to the hideout when he spotted a possible 'client.' He was a tall man with red-brown hair several shades darker than Remy's, which he wore in a neat ponytail down his back. His attire screamed of wealth and fortune, and Remy simply couldn't resist the challenge. He quickened his pace and had soon fallen into step behind the man. Studying his prey, Remy took note of the man's movements as well as the sway of his gait. Satisfied that he had his rhythm down, the young thief moved in for the take.

If only he had been quicker, he might have been able to pull his arm back before the man's ironclad fist clamped down on his wrist. This was a new experience for him, being caught. In the four years he had been running with Fabian, he had never been caught. A few sporadic close calls, but never _this_ close. He quickly decided it wasn't a situation he liked very much.

Adding to the problem was the fact that the boys had never really taught him how to escape situations like these. Or if they had, he probably hadn't given it much interest. Damn his short attention span. At the moment, he was at a loss as to what to do. Twisting out of the man's grip would prove impossible, since he held him firmly with one hand. Screaming for help would do nothing but draw the attention of the police. And what exactly would be his defense? 'Help! The man I tried to rob wants to hurt me'? _Non._ That wouldn't do.

But before he could come up with a proper means of escape, the man caught his gaze. Remy was taken aback by the kindness he saw in those dark eyes. There was no accusation, no threats, simply curiosity at the young creature itching to relieve him of his wallet.

"If ya wan'ed some money f'r food, _petit,_ ya could've jus' asked," the man had said softly, kneeling down to the child's level.

Remy stood speechless, unsure of what to say, and yet helpless to leave with his arm still held by the stranger.

"What's ya name, chile?"

"R-Remy."

"Well, Remy," the man announced, rising and releasing the young boy's wrist, "'M jus' about t'have lunch in dat rest'rant over dere wit' m'son, Henri. Would ya like t'join us?"

Remy's eyes grew wide. Lunch? In a real restaurant? Where they had fancy tables and waiters and all the bread you could ask for? He had never been in a restaurant before and his curiosity got the better of him. He quickly turned to the man and vigorously nodded his head.

The man smiled down at him and placed his arm about Remy's shoulder. "_Bien._ Let's go."

Jean-Luc LeBeau -- Remy learned his name after trying to simultaneously shove three bread rolls and a glass of water down his throat -- was an extremely wealthy businessman who dealt in the redistributing of acquired wealth. At the time Remy didn't understand what that meant. He later found out that Jean-Luc would visit the homes of the recently deceased and would make an offer for certain valuable items in the household. He would then resell the item for two, three, sometimes four-times what it was worth. He was a shrewd businessman who knew exactly when the right time was to push hard and when to use kid-gloves on prospective clients. He would have held a monopoly on the market if it hadn't been for his direct rival, Marius Boudreaux. The two had been long-time enemies and were constantly looking for ways to sink the other's company.

After that fateful lunch, Remy saw a lot of Jean-Luc LeBeau. They would continually bump into each other along the busy streets of the French Quarter -- usually when Remy was about to score a take. Even his son, Henri, whom Remy liked immensely, seemed to become a permanent fixture in the walkways that he frequented. He started to wonder about this until one day, Jean-Luc approached him and asked if he would like to come and live with their family. Again, Remy was struck speechless. A few months ago, this man offered him food. And now he was offering him a home and a… family. He couldn't believe it.

But it was real all right. Jean-Luc meant every word, and he took Remy in and adopted him. The adoption itself took some time since the birth certificate the nurses had made for him had been lost in the orphanage. It wasn't until he was eleven years old and seven months that he officially became Remy Etienne LeBeau.

Remy's first public singing performance had been a dare from his brother, Henri. He fearlessly took the challenge and entered the contest to show Henri up. But mostly he did it to impress Bella Donna Boudreaux, who was the daughter of his father's arch-nemesis. At fourteen, he had become infatuated with her. But then again, as Henri would be quick to point out, he was infatuated with anyone of the opposite sex.

After his first singing contest, wherein he placed second -- Remy still believed the judges were fruit loops for not choosing him -- he would dabble in competitions every now and again, whenever the mood struck him. He preferred composing songs on his guitar along the banks of the Louisiana bayous or on the steps of _Tante_ Mattie's back porch. It wasn't until he was seventeen, and heartbroken after catching Belle in bed with Olivier Deveraux, that he became serious with his passion for music. He began practicing and composing constantly, and entering contests religiously. In his spare time, he would hang out at jazz clubs and listen to the greats belt out bluesy tunes about lost love and heartaches. It became an obsession for him, to make it as a singer and a songwriter.

However, not everyone thought it was a good idea he was pouring so much of himself into this goal. Most believed he wouldn't make it past the state line before he came crawling back and admitting he couldn't hack it as a musician. The only true supporters he had were his family: Jean-Luc, Henri, _Tante_ Mattie, and then later Henri's wife, Mercy.

It was Mercy who really got him going; she was a take-charge kind of woman, and she certainly took charge of his career! When he was nineteen, she started booking him for gigs all around New Orleans, and six months later he was a hot commodity. Her managing skills left nothing to be desired, and he jokingly told her he'd take her on as an employee. She had looked him straight in the face and told him, "I get a ten-percent cut, pup," and then proceeded to line up more jobs.

It was at one of these gigs of Mercy's that a talent scout took notice of him. From there, things were a whirlwind of auditions, meetings and finally, the big contract signing. After three years of blood, sweat and tears -- all on the part of other people because he was enjoying the ride -- he finally had his record deal. The euphoria extended well past the one-year mark when his first album, 'Stranger in My Eyes,' was released. Promotional tours and guest appearances were scheduled one after another, and his life became a nonstop roller coaster ride. However two years later, he did slow down long enough to work on his second album, 'Infrequency,' which he was currently on tour promoting.

"Yeah, 'm good, Henri," Remy said, breaking out of his memories and answering his friend's question on whether or not he could cope with another action-packed day. He had been battling off a cold for the past week. "Jus' a li'l sleepy, is all. I'll perk up once de day kicks in… hopefully."

At that last word, Hank's attention snapped to Remy. But the younger man merely smirked and returned his focus to the auburn-haired beauty on the screen.

----

**A/N:**  
5) In canon, Sam is a few years younger than Rogue, but here I made him a few years older, simply because all of the other X-guys have roles in this fic and I couldn't think of anyone else to play the part.  
6) I forgot what Guido's last name is -- it's Italian and starts with a letter C -- but his codename was 'Strong Guy.' (Yeah, that's right up there with 'Jean Grey' as a codename.) He was in X-Factor with Havok, Polaris and the like, way back when.  
7) Trish Tilby, of course, is Beast's old girlfriend.

~ I know not much has happened in the last two chapters, just a bunch of introductory stuff. Please bear with me; I'm still kind of stretching my writer's wings a bit. I know exactly where I want to go with this story, I just don't know quite how to get there yet. I'll figure it out. Just as soon as my damn muse gets off his ass! : )


	3. Surprises

**Disclaimer:** You know how it goes, all Marvel's... yada yada ya... _*grumble grumble*_

**A/N:** Hi, all! Sorry it took me a while to get this up. I've been working on it the past week even though I'm _supposed_ to be completing requirements for a course I took a while back. I have to read four books in the span of two weeks. It was originally one month, but hey, I'm a crammer! So anyway, how many of the books have I read, you may ask? Two. Will I get done with the other two in time for the deadline? Not likely. _Why?_ Because this damn fan fiction refuses to leave me alone! It's slowly seeping out of my brain and taking over all of my bodily functions. Okay, I'm ranting now… there, I've stopped…

To everyone who left a review, thank you so much! I always get a high from reading your comments. Last time, I read them early in the morning and then spent the rest of the day with the _stupidest_ grin on my face. It was a wonder my family didn't think about committing me to a mental institution. Thanks especially to all the fellow authors. It means a lot to me that you guys dig the story because I've read your works and have loved all your stories!

To Coquine: I know what you mean. Not being able to remember Guido's last name was driving me nuts, too. Don't you just hate it when something's at the tip of your tongue, and the more you think about it, the more you can't remember? Fortunately, my brother was there to put me out of my misery for this one. He remembered Guido's name when he saw me digging through his old X-Factor collection.

And so, without further ado...

**CHAPTER 3  
Surprises**

He switched off the television set and closed his eyes, leaning back until his head touched the wall behind him. The interview had lasted for fifteen minutes more, with Rogue enthusiastically discussing the work that had gone into her latest project. It was her most personal album to date, filled with tracks that described more of who she was than any unauthorized biography on the market. Her very heart and soul had been poured into the record, even more so since she co-wrote and co-produced over half of the tracks on the album. Daring to bare herself to that degree became all the more possible with the array of talent she collaborated with, in the form of numerous sought-after producers and guest appearances by fellow artists. She spoke with such enthusiasm and unbridled passion that it was infectious. It was all she could do to sit calmly in her seat; she looked as if she were going to jump up and perform her latest single just to give the audience a taste of what she had described as 'ear candy.'

He suddenly opened his eyes and stood, walking over to the desk across the room and unlocking the bottom drawer. Reaching in, he pulled out a large, velvet case. Inside was a beautiful silver necklace; simple in design, with a small snowflake pendant hanging from a chain so fine it almost appeared invisible. It was perfect. He sat down to prepare the letter that would accompany the necklace.

Two hours later, he was finished.

- oOo -

The music flowed all around her, soft and free, encasing her in a gentle womb of warmth. The rhythm became part of her heartbeat, steadying, pulsating; giving her the lifeblood required to sustain her very existence. It wasn't long until she was completely lost to the sweet sensations. Enthralled. Entombed. Enticed into a world overflowing with beautiful harmonies and sensuous melodies, where one could fall asleep and wake up into forever.

And then the words came. Softly at first, barely more than a whisper, only to transform into a clear, steady voice that matched the beats note for note. The amalgamation of sounds quickly drove her to a blissful state where nothing else existed but the music around her. No pain, no confusion, no responsibilities. Simply her and the music.

Then the sounds slowly died, fading away until there was nothing left but an eerie silence echoing in her ears. Gradually, she opened her eyes, lowering the hands that she had unknowingly placed on her throat and forehead. A voice crackled over the intercom.

"That was fantastic, Rogue. Come on out and take a break."

She reached up and slid the headphones off of her ears, hanging them over the microphone stand for further use later on in the day. Once outside the soundproof booth, she was greeted with the sight of half a dozen or so people in the adjoining room.

"So what d'ya think, Ali?" Rogue asked, picking up a bottle of water and refreshing her parched throat.

Alison Blaire looked up from where she had been leaning over the sound technician's shoulder. "I think it was great, Rogue. I don't think we need to record another take; you hit the mark with that one, doll."

"Can Ah get a listen?"

"Sure thing. Tony?" She tapped the man seated in front of her.

Moments later, the sound of her voice filtered out of the numerous speakers positioned throughout the room. Deep and bluesy, it created an air of sadness in the studio.

"Like I said," Alison commented as the last chords of the song faded away, "I think we've got it. We can take an extra hour for lunch, come back and put the finishing touches on the last tracks."

"Ah don' know," said Rogue. "Somethin' sounds a bit… off." It wasn't as if she didn't trust Alison's judgment -- she did, immensely. Ali was one of the best producers in the business, with an ear for music that even God would envy. But sometimes you could _feel_ that something wasn't right with a song. She couldn't describe it with words, but she just knew. "What do y'all think? Logan?"

The Canadian grunted. "Sounded depressin', darlin'. Thought that was the point."

"Made me wanna go home right now and shoot myself; was so sad," Guido put in, taking a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

"Well, what if I tweaked the pitch a little?" Tony asked as he adjusted several knobs. "There. How does this grab you?"

The familiar melody filled the room once more. Guido ceased his mid-morning munching long enough to wonder what the difference between the two versions was. For him, the track sounded exactly the same; same haunting tune, same throaty voice singing of pain and loss. But apparently there was a distinction between the two because both Rogue and Alison were grinning from ear to ear, now fully satisfied with the finished product.

"That's it, sugah!" Rogue exclaimed. "It's perfect!"

"Still never one to settle for second-best, eh?" said a voice from the doorway. "Won't quit until _every_ note is in its proper place."

Rogue smiled to herself. Even without turning she knew who it was. It was a voice she would know anywhere. "Kind o' like someone Ah know who's exactly th' same… Jeannie."

The redhead grinned her greeting before walking across the studio floor and embracing her friend in a tight hug. "You look fantastic, Dixie."

Rogue laughed at the name Jean used; only she and Ororo had ever called her by that nickname, and it sounded wonderful to her ears. "Ah could say th' same ta you, sugah. Did ya bring me somethin'?"

The smile reappeared on Jean's face. "It wasn't like I had a choice really," she said with mock exasperation. "I was under the threat of being tarred and feathered if I didn't comply. And you know what happens when -- "

Before she could finish, a loud cry, emanating from the hallway, rang out. "Ixxxiieeee!" A few moments later, a small toddler, dressed in a pale pink t-shirt and blue overalls, appeared at the door. Her thick red hair was pulled into what had once been a neat ponytail; now several strands were escaping their confinement.

"Rachel!" Rogue's face lit up as she knelt down and opened her arms. "C'mere, sweetie, an' give me a hug!"

The little girl smiled and rushed into the embrace. Holding her tightly as she stood, Rogue cooed, "Oohh, Ah missed ya so much. Look how much ya've grown!"

"Big?"

"Yeah, sugah, yoah very big. Yoah a big girl now."

Rachel giggled at the compliment and then leaned back into Rogue's body, resting her head against the shoulder in front of her. She amused herself by capturing a handful of chestnut hair and twirling it in her small hand.

"Are you free for lunch?" Jean asked after she had greeted the others in the room.

"Sure. Ah'll see ya this aftahnoon, Ali?" Rogue kept her upper body straight as she bent her knees to retrieve her knapsack from the floor. Rachel's grip tightened slightly at the prospect of accidentally being dropped.

"Take your time, Rogue," Alison replied. "No rush. We're just going to polish things off a little anyway."

"Ah'll see ya later then, sugah."

- oOo -

Thirty minutes later, they had gathered on the patio deck in back of Rogue's New York home. Rachel had eagerly donned her swimsuit and was currently splashing in the shallow end of the pool. Unfortunately, her fun was being rained on by her nanny, who wouldn't let her out farther than the pool steps.

"She's beautiful, Jeannie," Rogue said, watching the little girl attempt to submerge herself underwater. The task proved to be impossible with the plastic orange floaters on both her arms keeping her afloat.

Jean grinned. "Sure, you say that now because she's your godchild. But wait until you get one of your own and then we'll see how wistful you are with a one-year-old bundle of nonstop energy! You'll be singing another tune then, my friend."

Rogue laughed at Jean's tone. She sounded like she regretted motherhood, but Rogue knew that just the opposite was true. Jean loved Rachel like nothing on Earth; it was an amazing thing to witness. She had given up a number of things to become a full-time mother, and she cherished every minute of it.

"So how's Scott?" she asked as she took a bite of her meatball sandwich.

Jean eyed her enviously, picking at her chef's salad. "I can see all that cheese oozing out from over here. I will never know how you manage to eat all this forbidden food and not gain a pound. It's unnatural."

"It is not. Ah exercise a lot."

"When do you find the time? It's not like you have a very loose schedule. They've got you booked from here until kingdom come."

"Stop avoidin' mah question, sugah. How's yoah husband?"

Jean developed a faraway look on her face. "He's… he's… perfect."

Rogue couldn't help but laugh at her friend's expression. "Mah goodness! An' this aftah havin' been married fo' two years already. Hasn't th' honeymoon stage worn off by now? Ah mean, y'all have a baby an' ev'rythin'."

"I suppose it would wear off faster if I actually got to see my husband more often than I do. Charles is busy working on some important projects so Scott has to fill in for him on most of the heavy work."

Rogue sympathized with Jean; it couldn't be easy being married to the vice president of one of the heavy-hitting recording labels in the business. Scott had a lot of responsibilities; the demands on his person could have made a two-ton elephant stop dead in its tracks.

"No one evah said bein' married ta a near-genius would be easy, sugah. Someone who's a vice president o' anythin' at thirty-one is bound ta have some serious commitments."

"I just wish Charles would hurry up and finish work on his extra projects already so I can have my husband back."

The southerner smiled. "Don' knock th' head honcho, Jeannie. He was, aftah all, our biggest supporter."

"I know, I know." She smirked suddenly. "Remember when we had just signed our contract and our first publicist wanted to change our image? He told you to get rid of your southern accent; he told me to drop the 'sweetie' act and become the resident 'bad girl'; and he wanted 'Ro to dye her hair brown to look 'more ethnic.'"

"Ah 'member. We told him we'd do all that when he had th' stick up his backside surgically removed. Th' man was a yutz."

"Then he threatened to go to Charles and have us 'removed.'"

Rogue laughed at the memory. "But then Charles told him that talent like ours was one in a million but that publicists were a dime a dozen."

Jean joined in her laughter. "Yeah, that was priceless. But we did eventually come to a compromise with him. Well, at least you did."

"Ah didn' mind all that much." Rogue ran a hand down the white streak in her hair. "Ah think it's kinda cool, actu'lly. Always wanted ta do somethin' with mah hair. An' Ah'm used ta ev'ryone usin' mah stage name."

"Speaking of you," Jean began, pushing her salad bowl away. She had become suddenly serious. "How are you? I saw the interview this morning."

Rogue repeated her friend's gesture and discarded her lunch plate. She then reached for her glass of iced tea. "Ah'm good, Jeannie, real good."

"Don't lie to me, Dixie." Jean tapped the side of her head. "I'm telepathic."

The younger woman sighed. She knew it was useless to try and hide something from Jean. They had known each other too long, spent too many hours exposing every little ugly detail of their lives for Jean not to know when something was bothering her.

"It was a good interview, Ah think," she began. "'Cept fo' when Amy started askin' 'bout th' breakup. It's been a year an' a half already. Ya'd think it was old news by now."

"People like to talk, make up stories about other people that just aren't true."

"Ah know. Ah jus' didn' like it when she started goin' on 'bout disbandin' fo' no good reason. Like she didn' know ya had a baby."

Jean reached across the table and grasped the other woman's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She appreciated the fierce loyalty that Rogue had for her and anyone else she held close to her heart. It was unwavering in its intensity and as steadfast as any rock. Once you were a part of her inner circle you were a member until death.

Effortlessly, Jean switched topics. "Have you heard from Ororo lately?"

Another sigh erupted from across the table. "Ya can't keep track o' that girl. She's always flittin' 'bout from one exotic place ta anothah. Ahh, ta be a famous singer-turned-fashion model. Walkin' down runways, stoppin' traffic with a turn o' yoah head." She flipped her hair off one shoulder dramatically, pouting her lips and striking a seductive pose. "Ah'd fo'get 'bout her, sugah; she has no time fo' li'l people like us."

"So she wrote you last week?"

Rogue smirked. Her attempt to be the disgruntled, forgotten-about friend had obviously no affect on Jean. She knew Ororo would always check in with them every so often.

"Postcard from Rome. Ah might meet up with her in Paris when we head ovah fo' promotion."

"Send her my love."

"Why don' ya come with us?" Rogue's face brightened at the idea. "Ya could bring Rachel with ya. C'mon, sugah, it'll be fun! Like a reunion fo' th' three o' us. We haven't all been in th' same room tagether fo'evah."

"I don't know," said Jean hesitantly, looking over to the pool where Rachel was tossing about a large plastic beach ball. "I'm not sure a six-hour ride on a confined airplane and a hyperactive one year old is such a great combination."

"It'll be fine. We're takin' one o' th' company's planes, an' ya know how homey they are."

'Homey' was an understatement. The standard Boeing 747 was large enough to seat approximately a thousand passengers; its converted counterpart could carry fifty comfortably. It housed four private bedrooms, complete with queen-sized beds and entertainment units; three luxurious full-sized bathrooms; a dining area and a fully stocked kitchen; a living room; a television lounge; a game room and a mini-studio. Not to mention all the sitting areas scattered sporadically through the plane's interior. It was the closet one could get to having a home in the sky.

"An' we can take Nanny Jane with us," Rogue continued. "C'mon, it'll be like old times."

Jean had to smile at her enthusiasm. "We'll see," she said elusively.

A wry smile played itself across Rogue's features as she scrutinized her friend's demeanor. "Ya've changed, Jeannie. Ah don' mean that in a neg'tive way," she said hurriedly when Jean gave her a sharp look. "Ah mean, ya used ta be so quick ta say yes ta a good plan, without thought o' th' consequences. An' now yoah a… a…" she groped for the right word, "…a momma."

"I'm still the same girl, Dix. The only difference is now I have a daughter to think about."

Rogue nodded her head thoughtfully. "Before ya used ta seem a bit restless at times. Now ya seem peaceful… happy."

"I am happy."

A comfortable silence fell over them. Several moments passed and yet neither of them felt the need to break the stillness. The only sound that could be heard was the giddy laughter of a toddler and the rustling of the trees as the wind whispered through them.

Finally, Rogue spoke. "Remember that time we went skinny dippin'? That was a great weekend."

"I can't believe you two talked me into that!"

"Excuse me, Ms. All-Innocent-an'-Pure-as-Snow," Rogue objected, leaning across the table, "if'n Ah recall it was th' resident redhead who started th' dippin'. In front o' that trio o' boys, no less!"

Jean grinned wickedly. "I couldn't help it," she confessed, "that blonde one reminded me of Kevin."

Rogue looked momentarily confused before nodding her head at the memory. "Ah 'member Kevin. 'Ro an' Ah didn' like him too much. Tad on th' pig-headed side."

"What are you talking about? You guys loved Kevin. You said he was a prince."

"No, that was Alan. Alan was th' prince, Kevin was th' frog."

A giggle erupted from Jean's throat. "Well, at least I didn't have a relationship fiasco like you had with Rob."

"That was a complete misunderstandin'!" shot Rogue defensively. "We had no idea we were related!"

Another peal of laughter resounded through the air. "I'll bet! 'Ro was laughing so hard I thought she would hurt herself."

"Well, 'Ro ain't one ta talk. She ain't as scar-free as she'd like ta think. What 'bout that Gabe fella? Th' one that always picked his teeth? Mah, but that was disgustin'."

"Let's face it, Dixie, we've all had our share of war stories."

"Yeah, but at least yoah war's ended. Ya walked home with th' flag, an' got a baby ta boot."

"Well, what about that guy you're seeing? The one you wrote me about a while ago?"

"He's… good."

"'Good'?" Jean repeated, trying to catch Rogue's gaze but failing. "You don't fool me, missy; there's something else. What's with the goofy grin on your face?"

"Ah have no idea what yoah talkin' 'bout, sugah."

"Oh, yes you do. You know _exactly_ what I'm -- " Jean stopped suddenly and faced her friend head on. She studied her a moment before asking, "You're in love with this guy, aren't you?"

Rogue didn't answer. Instead, she steadied her gaze straight ahead of her, focusing on her rambunctious goddaughter.

"You _are,"_ Jean confirmed, interpreting her silence as a yes. She pulled her deck chair closer to Rogue's, taking her friend's hands into her own and squeezing them encouragingly. "'Ro and I were afraid you wouldn't want to open your heart again. Not after what happened with… Cody."

Rogue winced involuntarily at the name. It still pained her slightly to think about it, but not nearly as much as it once had. She had been fourteen at the time, so fresh-faced and innocent. And he had been her first love. The world couldn't have looked brighter; the sunshine sweeter. She was on top of the world, with a new record deal and a loving boyfriend. Until she overheard him telling someone on the phone how he would ride Midnight's rise to fame just as sure as if he were a part of the group himself.

Since that day, she had learned to guard her heart diligently; never really letting anyone get too close to her in the romantic sense, effectively giving her an aura of untouchability. It was a good way to protect her emotions, but a miserable way to ward off the loneliness.

She looked down at her lap where Jean's hands still held her own in a reassuring grip. "Ah… Ah feel safe with him. An' Ah haven't felt safe with anyone in a while."

Jean knew what she meant by 'safe.' _Media_ safe. When you lived your life in front of the cameras it became public property, and any juicy tidbit about you was fair game, no matter how personal. It made dating particularly difficult, and all three women had experiences where ex-boyfriends -- or even, at the time, current boyfriends -- ratted them out for the promise of quick cash. It was a rare occurrence indeed to find a person who was capable of holding his tongue after having been told a few dark secrets.

"So when did you meet this mystery man?"

"A few years ago, at one o' our X-Gene parties." The annual X-Gene Records celebration served as both get-togethers for the entire company, as well as a formal introduction of the label's latest talents. "Ah really didn' think much about him at first, but ovah th' next couple o' years, we kept bumpin' inta one anothah ev'ry now an' again."

"Wait a minute, you met him at X-Gene? Have _I_ met him?"

Rogue shrugged. "Maybe."

"What's his name?" asked Jean, pulling back into her chair and taking a slow sip of her drink.

"Remy LeBeau."

If Rogue had been seated a few more inches to the right or even a few more inches forward, she would have been covered in spewed-out iced tea.

"Le-LeBeau? As in country-jazz-singer-pushing-the-envelope-critics-be-damned-in-demand-beyond-belief _Remy_ LeBeau?"

"Oh, so ya've heard o' him?" Rogue teased.

"Heard of him? Hon, you'd have to be living on Pluto to NOT have heard of this guy. He's the biggest thing on the market right now." Jean winked at her friend. "That is, until your next album comes out. Then we'll see who's 'pushing the envelope.'" She frowned, suddenly remembering something. "Wasn't he dating that actress from that lifeguard show -- umm…" She snapped her fingers repeatedly.

"Debra Kooling? Yeah, but that was a while ago an' they weren't that serious."

"Come to think of it, he's been linked to a lot of women." Jean counted them off on her fingers. "That centerfold model, Kristen Lenard. Michelle Hanburg, the lingerie model. Even Millie Ryback, that famous porn star."

"Now that one was not true!" Rogue defended. "He's never even _met_ Millie." She didn't really like where Jean was going with this.

Jean reached out to grasp Rogue's hand once more. "Now, Dixie, you know I love you. I couldn't love you any more if I tried. I only want you to be happy." She squeezed the other woman's hand for emphasis. "But are you sure about this guy? Are you sure he isn't some womanizing playboy? His reputation -- "

"You o' all people should know that half o' what's written in th' papers ain't true. An' that th' truth in th' othah half is so diluted that ya can't even call it that anymore!"

"I know. I just don't want to see you get hurt." _Like last time,_ she added silently.

"He's a good guy, Jeannie. Ya'll like him."

"I'm sure I will." But in the back of her mind, Jean wasn't so sure. She made a mental note to keep track of this Remy LeBeau.

- oOo -

Stretched out on the couch of his tour bus some two thousand, five hundred miles away in San Diego, Remy was restless. He usually used the time on the bus to catch up on his sleep, but this afternoon he was simply too wired. His mind kept floating back to the interview that morning, and to the woman that instantaneously stirred every part of his being. He closed his eyes and he could see her image vividly before him, causing a soft smile to touch his lips.

It had been three years since they met at the label's annual shindig. Midnight had already one record under their belt at the time, and was working on their second. He, on the other hand, had been one of the rookies of the night, only a couple months shy of releasing his debut album. He remembered being introduced to her -- by Charles Xavier, no less -- and thinking that she was a pretty little thing, but beyond that, nothing. It would take the next two years of friendship, an ever-increasing amount of e-mails and phone calls under pseudonyms, secret rendezvous, and a series of quiet, intimate conversations to make him realize that 'nothing' was actually very much _something._

They had been together a year since then, with the barest number of people knowing the true nature of their relationship. Rogue hadn't even told her two closet friends exactly who he was. They weren't ready yet to make their romance known to the world. They wanted to hold off the prying eyes and public scrutiny for as long as they possible could.

But keeping their names separate and unlinked in the eyes of the media wasn't even the hardest part of the relationship. The one thing that drove Remy up the wall was not being able to see her as often as he would like. The times when they were able to make room in their insanely busy schedules were few and far in between. And frankly speaking, he wasn't used to going this long without female affection. He was no saint -- he'd be the first to admit -- and so he didn't deny the fact that his charm had easily gained him entrance to many a woman's bedroom in the past. An article in a national newspaper had once called him 'the Cajun Casanova' with a devilish smile and a pair of cajoling eyes. He was fully aware of the extent of his charm, and at times, craftily used it to his own advantage, particularly with the opposite sex.

But he now found himself thinking of only one woman, one who was clear across the continent on the opposite coast. He missed her terribly; it had been a couple of days since their last conversation on the phone and well over three months since they'd last laid eyes on each another. He could clearly envision her easy smile, her hearty laugh. Her impossibly green eyes… soft mouth… oh so deliciously satin-smooth skin under his fingertips…

Remy groaned and turned over onto his side. It wouldn't do him any good to go through sound check with a certain part of him… already checked.

Someone cleared their throat above him and his eyes flew open. Mercy glared down at him with a frown on her face and a cell phone in her hand.

"I can' stand ya moanin' an' groanin' a second longer, Remy," she hissed, thrusting the phone into his hands. "Would ya get done wit' it already?"

He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. "What're ya talkin' 'bout, Merc?"

"I'm talkin' 'bout you flippin' 'round like a dyin' crawfish on dat couch. It's drivin' me crazy." She sat down on the matching sofa directly across from him. "Ev'ryone knows ya get a bit loopy when ya don' talk t'ya _femme,_ so call her already an' give de rest o' us some peace an' quiet!"

With a lopsided grin on his face, Remy leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, fingering the cell in his hand. "What time is it back east?"

Mercy checked her watch, calculating the time difference. "'Bout seven p.m."

Remy ran through a mental checklist of the possible places Rogue could be that early in the evening. He knew that she had a few more tracks to perfect in the studio and it was more than likely that she would be there until the wee hours of the morning. Unless of course she had a date with some dashing young man. Remy scoffed at the idea for two reasons. One, they were dating each other; and two, someone more dashing than him? Please!

Reciting from memory, he confidently punched in the number to her personal cell phone. A loud sigh of relief rang out from his sister-in-law/manager's direction and he flashed her a grin. Impatiently, he counted the number of rings resounding in his ear. One. Two. Three…

"Hello?" a male voice said.

Remy froze. For a full three seconds, his mind went completely blank. Suddenly his earlier thought of a dashing young man didn't seem so ludicrous. "Who's dis?" he demanded.

"Hey, you're the one callin', bub. Who the hell is _this?"_

"Logan?" Remy's heart ceased its rapid pounding.

"That you, Cajun?" came the reply. "Sorry, Gumbo, didn't recognize you there fer a second. You lookin' fer yer girl?"

"_Oui."_ It was a rhetorical question really. Why else would he be calling her _personal_ number?

"Bad timing. Kid's in the booth right now, singin' up a storm. Listen."

Remy heard the soft click of a door opening, and then the sound of Rogue's dulcet voice glided over the phone line. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his features. God, he loved her voice. It soothed his nerves better than any drug could. As if the mere sound of it ordered every single muscle in his body to relax.

The voice slowly faded and the sound of a closing door was heard. "They should be goin' on a break soon."

"Pullin' an all-nighter, _mon ami?"_

"Looks like. Girl's a perfectionist, ya know. Ya want I have her call you when she gets out?"

"_Merci, homme."_

Remy pulled the cell away from his ear and pressed the 'End' button. He laughed inwardly at his instinctive reaction to feel jealous when he thought Rogue was seeing another man. She had a habit of leaving her cell phone in the care of someone she trusted -- usually Logan or her personal assistant, Karen -- whenever she was on stage performing, in an interview, or simply unable to answer a call. Remy had completely forgotten about it, despite the fact that this wasn't the first time Logan had answered when he called.

"Dat was quick," Mercy commented. "Usu'lly we have t'pry ya fingers off de phone b'fore ya say _au revoir."_

"Wasn' her. She's appar'ntly in de studio at de moment."

Mercy was about to open her mouth to say something more when the phone in Remy's hand rang.

"Allo?"

"Hey, sugah."

Remy closed his eyes at the sound of her honeyed voice. With a contented sigh, he leaned back against the sofa. "Hey yaself, _chère."_

"Where are ya?"

"San Diego. On de way t'de venue."

"Ya got a show tanight?"

"_Oui."_

Silence.

"Ah miss you."

"Can' be half as bad as I miss you."

She laughed. "Does it always have ta be a comp'tition with ya, mistah?"

"_Toujours."_

"Well, in that case, jus' wait a couple months an' Ah'll blow yoah li'l number one record outta th' sky," she declared with mock smugness.

"Is dat a fact?"

"That's a promise, sugah."

"An' if ya don' deliver?"

"Oh, Ah'll deliver all right. Ya can count on that."

Remy smiled. It was like hearing himself talk: confident to the point of near cockiness. He had been told that it was sometimes one of his more obnoxious qualities. But for Rogue, it was adorable.

"I betcha don' deliver," he teased, watching Mercy move to the front of the bus. "I betcha don' deliver an' then ya come cryin' t'me 'cause ya couldn' do it."

"Don' hold yoah breath, suh. Ah wouldn't turn ta ya if you were th' last Cajun on Earth."

He lowered his voice to a husky pitch. "Dat's not what ya said de last time I saw ya, _chère._ If I recall, ya did no'tin' BUT turn t'me… de _whole_ night long."

It was as if he could feel her blush from across the country, a knowing heat shooting throughout her body. Absently, he wondered if there were other people around her at the moment, and if they noticed the slight change in her.

"Ya have th' tongue o' th' devil, sugah."

"Don' 'member hearin' you complainin'."

"Would ya stop?" she pleaded.

Remy chuckled. There were obviously people around her; she was becoming self-conscious. "How many?" he asked, knowing she would pick up on his reference to the occupants in the studio.

"'Bout a dozen or so."

Regretfully, he consented to changing the topic. Although it would have been kind of kinky to engage in phone sex with his girlfriend in front of a dozen unsuspecting participants.

"Ya gon' be dere all night, _mignonne?"_ The tour bus came to a halt. Mercy reappeared and motioned for Remy to disembark.

"Prob'ly. We're still tweakin' some stuff on th' last couple o' tracks. They don' sound quite right." Rogue coughed slightly. "When am Ah gonna see ya again, Cajun?"

"An' what 'sactly do ya plan t'do wit' me once ya see me, _belle?"_ There was no mistaking his meaning.

"Ah thought we were off that topic already."

"If it were up t'me, _chère,_ we'd _always_ be on dat topic." His comment was met by silence. "Okay, okay. I'll behave. What was de question?"

"When am Ah seein' you?"

"We're flyin' back t'New York next week t'do a late-night talk show. T'ing is, I haveta fly out de next mornin' t'make it on time f'r de evenin' show."

"Yoah only gonna be in town fo' one night?" She sounded disappointed. "That doesn't give us much time fo'… stuff."

One thing about his lover, she was always up front with what was on her mind. "Oh, so we're back t'dat again, eh? In dat case -- "

She quickly cut him off. "Sugah, we're headin' ovahseas in about two months."

Remy felt something inside him drop to the pit of his stomach. It was difficult enough maintaining a relationship with someone who moved around the country just as much as he did, but what more when one of them wasn't even on the continent?

"How long will ya be over dere?"

"'Bout three weeks, Ah think."

He groaned. Three. _Long._ Weeks. Well, considering he had gone three months without seeing her, less than a month shouldn't seem like such a big deal. Aw, who was he kidding? He'd be miserable.

"Ya killin' me, _chère,"_ he mumbled, as he made his way through the backstage corridors of that night's venue.

"Well, it ain't like yoah sufferin' by yoah lonesome, Cajun," she whispered huskily, sending shivers down his spine. She cleared her throat before adding, "So Ah'll see ya next week?"

"Yeah, at de club. Got a su'prise f'r ya."

"A surprise? Fo' me? What is it?"

He laughed. "If I told ya, _mon amour,_ den it wouldn' be a su'prise, now would it? Ya'll jus' haveta be a good _petite fille_ an' be patient."

"Hmph. That ain't fair at all. You could at least give me a hint; tell me when Ah can expect it."

"Ya'll know it when ya see it. Oh, an' _chère?"_

"Yeah, sugah?"

"What 'sactly _do_ you plan t'do wit' me when ya see me?"

"Goodbye, Cajun," she said, pointedly. Her voice softened considerably as she whispered, "Ah love you."

"_Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur."_

- oOo -

Later that night, Remy could barely keep his eyes open. He was in the hotel elevator with half of his personal security team -- Hank and Peter Rasputin -- heading up to the penthouse suite after a grueling evening of performing. Following his conversation with Rogue, he'd had an excess amount of pent-up energy that simply screamed to be released. It had been a great show; the lively crowd adding to his already enthusiastic performance. But now, as a side effect, he felt utterly exhausted. He would have fallen flat on his face had he not been leaning against the elevator wall for support.

"Remy?" Hank prodded gently, nudging the other man's shoulder. "Remy? This is our floor."

He opened his eyes blearily, trying to focus on the figure in front of him. "_Quoi?_ [What?]"

"This is our floor. Come on, we're getting off."

"_Non, père,"_ Remy mumbled, groggily. "I didn' do it. It was ya other son."

Hank exchanged a look with Peter, who merely shrugged. The young singer must have been truly exhausted to be mistaking him for Jean-Luc LeBeau.

"I have never seen him this tired," Peter commented to Hank. They flanked Remy on both sides to guide his shaky steps. "He exerted himself too much during the show, perhaps?"

"I believe so." Hank shook his head. "I told you to take it easy, Remy. That virus is going to catch up to you yet."

"S'not'in', Henri. 'M fine." He yawned loudly. "See? Not'in' t'worry 'bout."

"You're going straight to bed and getting some rest, young man."

"Yes, _maman."_ A smirk accompanied his comment.

"It seems the exhaustion has not affected your sense of humor, my friend," said Peter as they neared the door to the suite. They were welcomed by the sight of a sturdy young man in a hotel security uniform.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted. Recognizing Remy, he turned to unlock and open the door for the trio.

"Mornin' already, eh? _Merci, mon ami."_

Remy walked into the room ahead of his two main bodyguards. The other half of his security team, Vic and Damien, were already settled into the living room flipping channels on the TV set.

"'Bout time you guys got here," Damien said. "We've had this place secured for the past half-hour. What took you so long?"

"We ran into some interference down in the lobby," replied Hank, helping himself to a handful of potato chips from the coffee table.

"Lemme guess," Vic put in, "the screamin' groupie types who worship the ground Remy walks on."

"Armed with flashing cameras and magic markers," added Hank, giving an affirmative nod.

"Har har, _mes amis,"_ Remy mumbled, turning toward the master bedroom. "'M turnin' in."

"Hey, boss," Damien called out. "You okay? You look kinda green around the gills there."

Remy nodded weakly and tried to smile, but it came out more as a twist of the lips rather than a grin. He continued his trek into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. Wearily, he moved into the unfamiliar room. After the show that evening, they had spent hours on the road to get to the next city. The time on the bus would have been an ideal opportunity to get some rest but he had still been high from his earlier euphoria, so he had spent the time playing cards and drinking with the guys. It was only thirty minutes before they reached their destination that he began to feel the distinct pull of his current state of exhaustion.

_Serves ya right, pup,_ he thought to himself. _Shouldn' have oughtta gotten Mrs. Thompson's cat outta de hardware store._

He shook his head. Even his thoughts didn't sound quite right. He stumbled forward, intent only on getting into bed and falling asleep before he hit the mattress.

"Morning, _mon chèri."_

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked towards the bed. At first, all he saw were the long, creamy limbs peeking out from under the bed linens. His gaze slowly traveled up to where she loosely held the sheet to her bare chest. A woman was in his bed, his mind registered. His eyes moved to her face. He gasped. Staring back at him were big, shining emerald eyes, framed by long, lovely curls of auburn and white. Rogue had come to see him.

He blinked and shook his head again. No, that wasn't right. This woman addressed him in French, not with a southern drawl. When he looked up again, the woman had changed. Now she was a plain brunette with a chin-length bob and doe-brown eyes.

_What de -- ?_

He blinked once more. Rogue was leisurely sliding off the bed, letting the covers slip languidly from her body. He watched, mesmerized, as she stretched her arms skyward, arching her back in the process. She smiled seductively and motioned for him to join her.

Blink.

Brown eyes.

Blink.

Green.

Rogue's hand was running along the length of her thigh, across the span of her pale, taut belly…

Blink. He crossed the room in three quick strides.

- oOo -

She yawned as she got out of the car and stretched. It had been a long night in the studio but well worth the sleeplessness. After months of working each song into perfection, the record was finally ready for public consumption. Everything was primed and set to go for the album's release in a month's time. And then came the fun stuff. Rogue couldn't wait to head out and perform the new material. In her opinion, it was some of their best work, and it would be exciting to see the audience's reaction to it.

She entered the house just as the sun's morning rays were peeping up over the horizon. Once in the foyer, she was met by Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper.

"You work too hard," the elderly woman scolded in way of greeting. "You're gonna put yourself in a hospital, the rate you're going."

Rogue smiled warmly. Rosemary was such a mother figure. She had been clucking her tongue and waving her finger at Rogue since she was eleven years old. She was so much a part of the family that she felt like a third parent at times.

"Mornin', Rosie. Reenie up yet?"

"She's working in her office. Been up for about three hours now, making phone calls for your trip overseas." Rosemary shook her head in wonder. "That's where you get it from, I bet. From her and Raven."

"Get what?"

"Your workaholic-ness."

"There's no such word."

"Well, there should be. Specially designed for the lot of you."

"Ah'm fine, Rosie," Rogue assured her, heading for the door on the far left. "Jus' a li'l sleepy. Don' worry."

She rapped lightly on the door to Irene's office. When no answer came, she quietly opened it ajar and peaked in. Irene was seated at her desk with the telephone receiver cradled against her shoulder and an assortment of paper spread out in front of her.

"Well, we'll only be there for three weeks," she was saying into the phone. A pause. And then, "Television and radio mostly, with a couple of charity events that she's involved in."

In Rogue's opinion, Rosie was right in one respect: Irene _was_ a workaholic. She had taken over the position of Midnight's publicist when the girls found it impossible to work with their previous one. Despite having no prior knowledge on the responsibilities of a publicist, Irene flourished in the new role. She had a knack for booking the right appearances, as well as signing the right deals on merchandising. And she had an uncanny ability to predict the outcome of certain public relations situations. It was almost as if she could see into the future of Rogue's career.

Glancing up from the desk, Irene spotted her in the doorway and smiled. Rogue made her way over to her and planted a quick kiss on the older woman's cheek.

"Mornin', Reenie," she whispered.

She straightened and motioned that she was heading upstairs. Irene nodded and Rogue walked back to the door, turning and waving before slipping out. Looking around for Rosemary, she found her dusting in the living room.

"Ah'm gonna head on upstairs an' get some shut-eye, Rosie," she informed her.

The housekeeper glanced over her shoulder. "There was a package that came for you last night, sweetie. I left it on the table by the closet, in the foyer."

"'Kay, thanks."

Rogue made her way back into the entrance hall and discovered the small parcel exactly where Rosemary said it would be. Tucking it under her arm, she climbed the stairs and headed for her room.

Once she had the door closed, she dropped her knapsack and placed the package on her night table. Flopping down onto her bed, she gratefully closed her eyes. She was halfway into oblivion when her eyes flew open and she recalled her earlier conversation with Remy.

_Got a su'prise f'r ya,_ he had said.

She looked over to the neatly wrapped box at her bedside. A slow smile crept onto her face.

_Sugah, you are too much,_ she silently told him as she sat up in bed and reached for the parcel. A computer-printed label bearing her name was carefully placed in the center, but there was no return address. Never one for delicacy when it came to unwrapping gifts, she ripped off the brown shipping paper and corresponding box. Inside were a large, velvet case and a stark white envelope. Ignoring the envelope for the moment, Rogue opened the case and gasped. Lying across a bed of purple velvet was a beautiful silver necklace. She traced the thin chain with her fingers, traveling down to the snowflake pendent at the end.

Feeling a surge of warmth and love, she set the necklace aside and picked up the previously discarded envelope.

_Oh, Remy, yoah always spoilin' me,_ she thought as she unfolded the letter and began to read.

An unbidden scream ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the house.

----

**A/N:** Okay, some quick notes…  
1) Alison Blaire is Dazzler. For those of you who aren't familiar with her, she was the songbird of the X-Men back in Claremont's first run on Uncanny. I didn't get to mention it in the story but I made her a famous-singer-turned-successful-producer.  
2) I made some references to mutant powers (ex. Jean being telepathic; Destiny predicting the future.), but none of the characters are mutants. I only threw those in for the hell of it.  
3) For this story, Irene is in her early forties.

~ It might be a while before I can get the next part up because, as I said earlier, I'm fulfilling some course requirements that I am desperately behind on. I promise to get it out as soon as I can, though. Before you go and hurt my feelings by logging off the Net or closing this window, drop me a review. Let me know how you think it's going. : )


	4. Keeping Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I'm shamelessly using _everything_ without Marvel's permission...

**A/N:** Before anyone goes any further, I'd just like to remind everyone that I changed the hotel scene a little in Chapter 3 so if you haven't gotten a chance to check it out, do that now...

**CHAPTER 4  
Keeping Secrets**

"Did ya take care o' it?"

Michael Walker, Remy's publicist, slid into the seat across from his employer. Dressed in casual jeans, a football jersey, dark sunglasses and a bandana around his longish, russet hair, Remy hardly looked the part of a multi-million dollar recording artist. He looked like he was about to head out to a ball game or go fishing off the coast.

"It's been taken cared of."

"An' ya sure she won' talk?"

"Positive. I spoke with her personally."

Remy picked up his coffee cup and brought the hot liquid to his lips. "Dis'll get ugly if she talks, Mikey."

"I know, Remy. We've got it under wraps."

The singer took a deep breath. "It shouldn' have happ'ned, _mon ami."_

Michael said nothing. He wasn't sure if he should comment or not. He watched, wordlessly as Remy removed his sunglasses and set them on the table. The dark circles under his eyes were evidence of his lack of sleep the previous night.

"There's one more thing, though," Michael began slowly. Remy looked up and stared at him expectantly. "She's seventeen years old."

Remy swore under his breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the gesture would rid him of the throbbing pain in his head. "She's illegal; a minor."

Michael nodded, but remained silent.

"If de media gets wind o' dis, dey're gon' have a field day."

"They're not going to find out because she isn't going to talk," Michael repeated confidently.

Remy turned toward the window and cursed again.

- oOo -

_Scared the hell outta me when I heard Rogue scream like that. Guido an' me were up the stairs an' burstin' through her door faster than most people could think. Found the li'l darlin' curled up 'gainst the headboard o' her bed, eyes big an' wide, starin' at a piece o' paper like it'd attack her. _

_She raised her head an' caught sight o' me. _"Logan," _she'd whispered, tears brimmin' on the edge o' her eyes. _

_We quickly scanned the room, makin' sure nothin' was wrong an' everythin' was secure. I eased myself down next ta her and asked, _"What happened, darlin'?"

_She wouldn't answer me, simply shook her head an' pointed ta the letter. Guido picked it up an' started ta read as I gathered her in my arms an' tried ta quiet her down. She was shakin' like a leaf. _

_Twenty minutes later, we were down in the livin' room. Rogue was on the sofa, wrapped in a huge blanket that went 'round her frame like a cocoon. Irene sat next ta her daughter, tryin' ta soothe her with soft words an' warm tea. Raven had come home ten minutes earlier an' was now on the phone with the delivery company, yellin' fer all she was worth. Guido was out checkin' the rest o' the property, jus' ta be safe. _

_The cause o' all this ruckus was lyin' on the coffee table. I walked over an' picked it up. The words were barely 'nough ta fill the whole page, but the message was clear._

I know you, inside and out. I have watched you from a distance. But the time will come when nothing will stand between us, and I will be inside you.  
You are mine.

_The letters were cut out from newspaper clippin's an' from the look o' things, painstakingly positioned onta the paper. After readin' it again, I lifted it up ta my nose, tryin' ta get a scent off it. Stupid, I know, but it seemed like the only thing ta do. Damn, I hated bein' helpless. _

_I looked over ta the couch at Rogue. She was a bit calmer than before, sippin' her tea an' watchin' everyone in the room, 'cludin' me. She locked eyes with mine an' fer a split second I saw fear in them green eyes. She turned away an' the look was gone. _

_Raven hung up the phone all fumin' mad an' blue in the face. She looked like she wanted ta bust somethin'... or someone._

"They have no record of any deliveries to this address within the last twenty-four hours," _she practic'lly hissed before takin' a seat opposite Rogue an' Irene._ "I don't know if they're simply incompetent or..."

_She didn't finish; she didn't wanna voice what the rest o' us were already thinkin'. That this bastard walked right up ta the front door, pretty as ya please, an' left his 'package.' If he got in that far, maybe next time he'd push his luck an' try goin' even further. _

_Raven turned to me shootin' daggers from her eyes._ "Why didn't your people catch this, Logan?"

"They ran it through the X-ray," _I replied evenly, keepin' my frustration in check._ "They saw exactly what was in that box -- a necklace an' a letter. If it'd been an explosive or somethin' like that, it'd never have made it ta the main house."

_She dropped the subject then, but I got the feelin' that she'd start rantin' on my ass later, when she could corner me alone. At least the poisonous looks in my direction stopped. She **knew** I'd do anythin' in my power ta keep her daughter safe. It was more than the job... hell, I'd been guardin' that kid every flamin' day fer the past four years. She was like family ta me. _

_Raven stood up again, this time pacin' the room._ "Are you sure this isn't just some prank by that Cajun boy?"

"It ain't Remy, Momma. He wouldn't do somethin' like this."

_She was right, too. This wasn't Gumbo's style. He tended ta sweet-talk her, not flat out freak her out with cryptic messages 'bout bein' 'inside' her. Anger boiled through my blood at the last part. Didn't even wanna think what the sick bastard meant by that comment._

"Well then, the only thing we can do is cancel the promotional tour -- "

"Absolutely not!" _Rogue was outta her seat in half a second flat, blanket fallin' off her shoulders._ "We're doin' no such thing!"

"Darling, you can't possibly go on tour now with some lunatic out there _stalking_ you!" _Raven stopped her pacin' long 'nough ta face her daughter._

"Ah won't let this interfere with mah life. We've worked too hard on this record, spent too much time organizin' an' plannin', ta let some whack-job scare me inta a corner!"

"Child, are you insane?! You're going to risk your life for your _job?!"_

"It's not jus' a job, Momma, an' you know it!" _They were face-to-face now, tryin' ta stare the other inta submission._ "This is mah dream; what we've been workin' t'ward fo' th' past ten years! Ah'm not gonna let _anyone_ ruin it fo' me -- fo' us!"

"Well, if you won't cancel your itinerary then I'm at least calling the police." _She reached fer the phone an' started dialin'. _

_Rogue caught up ta her an' pressed the plunger down._ "No, Momma. If ya get th' police involved then it won't be long 'til th' media finds out. An' if that happens, it'll jus' be anothah problem ta handle."

"Kid's got a point, Raven," _I added._ "If the press hears o' this, they're gonna swarm 'round her like white on rice. Be even harder ta keep security tight."

"So what would you have me do? Sit back and do nothing?" _She looked 'round the room at the rest o' us._ "That's exactly what you want me to do, isn't it?"

"It ain't like we'll be doin' nothin', Momma. We can get more people on security with Logan. An' we'll be extra careful whenevah we're out in public. It'll be okay."

"Irene, would you please talk some sense into your daughter?" _Raven turned to the other woman, who'd been silent through the whole debate. _

_At first, she didn't speak; 'stead she glanced from Raven ta Rogue an' then back again. Finally, she said,_ "I'm sorry, Raven, but I have to agree with her." _She held up her hand ta stop any argument._ "I'm just as concerned for her safety as you are, but they make a good point. If the media gets a hold of this information, there'll be a frenzy and it will be even more difficult to keep her safe."

_Raven sighed. She almost looked... defeated._ "What are you going to do?" _she asked Rogue._

"'Sactly what we had planned fo' th' past six months: Ah'm gonna promote this album. Now if y'all excuse me, Ah gotta start rehearsals fo' th' tour this aftahnoon so Ah'm gonna go get some sleep."

_The three o' us watched silently as she made her way back upstairs. Not even an hour ago, I found that girl up in her room close ta tears. Now, she was tough as nails an' determined as all get out. I couldn't help but smile. Maybe I was rubbin' off on the kid. After all, I taught her a thing or two 'bout givin' the world hell._

- oOo -

"Hey, listen to this, _mi amigos,"_ Angelo Espinosa said, as he read the headlines off the newspaper. "'Killer in NYC Claims Fourth Victim.' Gruesome." He turned to his fellow students at the Frost Academy and continued reading, "'Police found the body of twenty-six year old businesswoman, Lorna Dane, in a dumpster behind a popular NYC dance club early this morning. Dane was apparently beaten and raped before receiving a fatal gunshot to the head. She is the fourth victim in a string of murders in the New York area, all exhibiting similar modes of operation. Evidence strongly suggests that the victims were stalked for an extended period of time before being murdered. Authorities have reason to believe that escaped mental patient, David Haller, is responsible for the series of killings. Officials declined to comment on any leads regarding Haller's current whereabouts.'"

Jonothan Starsmore groaned. "You and your sick obsession with police crimes, mate."

Jubilation Lee reached over and snatched the newspaper out of Angelo's hands. "You're totally abusin' this paper, dude. The only thing kids our age are supposed to be doin' with a newspaper is read the comic strips an' the entertainment section." To prove her point, she indicated an article that caught her eye. "Check it out. Rogue's new album comes out late next month. Cool."

"No wonder you're so uneducated, Jubes," Angelo joked as he sighed and leaned back into his chair.

In response, Jubilee popped the rather large bubble of gum she had been blowing and returned to her article.

----

**A/N:** ~ So how am I doing so far?


	5. Moth to a Flame

**Disclaimer: **I would like to make the formal announcement that I now own the _entire_ Marvel Corporation. And my first official act as president and owner is to twist and abuse any and all Marvel characters _exactly_ to my likely … okay, so maybe I'm a bit delusional and not in the right frame of mind at the moment, but hey, it _could_ happen…

**A/N: **I gotta admit that after I finished Chapter 4 I started getting lazy and a bit discouraged to write this part. I think it was mostly me being scared of how the chapter would unfold. I wasn't really sure if I could present the scenes well and get what I wanted to get across. There are some parts that I think are good but others I know I could have done better. So if y'all could drop me a review telling me which parts you like and don't like that would help me improve my writing a lot. Thanks! : )

**CHAPTER 5  
Moth to a Flame**

"One, two, three. And turn, two, three. And slide… crossover… and freeze."

Rogue held her position beside Elisabeth Braddock. They were posed in front of one wall of the dance studio's mirrors, their arms extended above their heads and their hips thrust slightly to one side. The sound of clapping broke them out of their position.

"Beautiful, ladies. And the dancing wasn't half bad either."

"Robert Drake," Betsy said, dabbing the sweat off her face with a towel. "When you asked for a break earlier we didn't think you'd be gone for over thirty minutes."

Bobby grinned. "Oh, my partner in crime must be pissed now; she used my _full_ name to start griping at me. Usually she sticks to such catch phrases as 'you lazy blockhead' or 'you bloody sod.'" He turned to her fully. "What's a 'sod' anyway, Betts? I swear, sometimes you Brits come up with the weirdest things to say."

He caught a towel in the face for his last comment.

"Seriously though, Bobby, where've ya been?" Rogue asked, beginning her cooling-down stretching. "We thought ya might've misun'erstood Betsy when she said th' rest o' th' _dancers_ could leave early. Thought ya might've fo'gotten that you were one o' th' choreographers," she added sarcastically.

"No such luck. No, I was on the phone with Opal."

Both women raised their eyebrows.

Bobby looked from one to the other. "What?"

Betsy cleared her throat before she asked, "Is this the woman you met a couple of months ago?"

"Yes."

"Th' one ya were goin' on an' on 'bout how pretty she was an' how she even laughed at yoah lame jokes?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're still seeing each other?"

"Yeah."

"Outta her own free will?"

"Hey!"

Turning to the other woman, Betsy held out her hand. "You owe me fifty dollars, luv."

Rogue walked over to her knapsack and extracted the money, handing it over grudgingly. "Couldn't've stuck ta yoah normal pattern, could ya, slick?"

"Oh, that's just great. Now you two are wagering on my love life?"

"Ever fleeting and fluctuating as it is."

"Well, we can't all be as stable and as steady as you, _Mrs._ Worthington."

Betsy flashed the considerable diamond engagement ring on her left hand. "Not for another six months, chum."

"So how goes this unprecedented-lastin'-ovah-a-month relationship, Bobby?"

"It's going good. We've reached an understanding," reported Bobby as they gathered their belongings and headed out of the studio.

"And what exactly would that be? An understanding that within a year she'll have a restraining order that requires you to keep a good hundred yards away from her?"

"You picked the wrong profession, Betsy. You should have been one of those crash-test dummies they use in those car accident experiments."

"Well, if that were the case, we'd still be partners." She smiled sweetly at him. "Only this time, you'd be better at the job than I am."

Rogue laughed at their banter. "Children, behave! Don' make me give y'all a time-out." She turned to her two bodyguards, who had been shadowing their progress as they made their way through the corridors of the building, and watched as Guido transmitted a message via the communication device fastened to his wrist. As they stood waiting, two other members of the security team were driving the car toward the building's side entrance to pick them up.

"So what're you doing tonight, Rogue?" Bobby inquired.

"Ah don' know, sugah, nothin' much." She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe Ah'll head out ta a club or somethin' later, if Ah feel up ta it. What 'bout you two?"

"I'm meeting Warren for dinner."

"Probably at some snooty place with a name that's hard to pronounce, serving dishes any normal person with some common sense would shy away from."

"And what exactly are _you_ doing this evening, dare I ask, Mr. Drake?"

"Well, my dear Elisabeth, if you must know, I'm taking Opal to the opera."

Rogue and Betsy caught each other's eye for a moment before promptly bursting into laughter. Guido failed to keep his sober expression and was soon joining the two women in their hysteria. Even Logan couldn't help the smirk on his face.

"You know, this is becoming an ugly habit," Bobby declared testily.

Gasping for breath, Rogue wiped the tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes. "Sorry, sugah. It's jus' that you in an opera house is like sendin' a monkey ta Congress."

"Not like that hasn't happened before, mind you," Betsy interjected. "Or won't again, come the next election year."

"Well, at least I finally found someone who has the potential to be _the_ one."

"Now, Bobby, are you picking on our little Mississippi because she hasn't found a man yet?" Betsy slung her arm around Rogue's shoulder good-naturedly, squeezing gently. "Don't worry, she's young. She'll find someone to twist around her little finger yet."

Rogue smiled but said nothing. _If ya only knew, sugah,_ she thought to herself as the rest of her security team arrived.

Betsy returned her smile before addressing Bobby. "Come on, Drake, you can drive me home. I need to get ready for my future husband."

Her partner smirked. "More like he has to get ready for you… for the rest of his pitiful life," he mumbled, dodging the hand that would have hit his shoulder. "Good night, Rogue." He kissed her cheek quickly. "See you tomorrow. If you don't that means Betsy had one of her homicidal maniac episodes again."

"Night, guys." Rogue briefly touched her cheek to Betsy's as a sign of goodbye. "Y'all behave yoahselves, y'hear? Ah need you two ta make sure Ah don' look like a complete idiot while Ah'm up on stage."

"'Course not, doll face. You'll only look like half an idiot, tops," Bobby teased as he and Betsy exited the building and made their way to his car.

She smiled again as she watched them drive off, before climbing into the backseat of her own awaiting vehicle. Once she was settled in and they were covering the short distance home, she sighed heavily. She was quite tired from the day's activities. For the past week, she had been in and out of meetings with Raven and the other production staff, fine-tuning everything from the change in stage settings to the smallest button on her button-fly jeans. She also had to get together with her musical director, band and back-up singers to practice and memorize the show's entire set list. If she had any free time in between, she would meet up with Bobby and Betsy to get a head start on their dance rehearsals. The rest of her dancers had already learned most of the routines, but it would take Rogue herself another two weeks or so of intensive rehearsal to have them down pat.

As tiresome as the last seven days sounded, Rogue knew that the worse was yet to come. They were only into the first week of tour rehearsals and hadn't even touched the edges of what was dubbed 'hell week' -- the final seven days before the first opening night -- wherein their time would consist of being awake for twenty hours straight and filled with last-minute plans and preparations for the tour.

But despite her hectic schedule, she had still managed to arrange for herself a little night off. On any normal day, she would still be beating down the walls of the dance studio with her two choreographers, but tonight was a little break from the chaos that was her life. She smiled as the car pulled into the driveway of her house. Tonight she had a date with a certain smooth-talking Cajun.

The last time she had seen him was three and a half months ago when she'd visited him in the recording studio. It felt like years instead of just months and she couldn't wait to wrap her arms around him again. He had always felt so real to her, so touchable. Unlike a lot of their fellow artists who seemed to construct walls around themselves, preventing outsiders from getting too close. For a long time, she had been one of them. But Remy came along and broke all her walls down. He had worked his way into her heart without her even knowing he had done so. And as she'd told Jean the previous week, she felt safe with him. Secure enough to know that she could tell him anything at all and he would still support her.

_Anythin' 'cept fo' th' fact that there's some nutcase out there watchin' ya,_ she thought, making her way into the house and up the stairs. Although she had spoken to Remy on the phone following the 'stalker' incident, she hadn't mentioned it to him. In her opinion it wasn't worth talking about again, especially since the first letter hadn't been followed by a second. _If Remy knew 'bout it, he'd lecture me worse than Momma. An' that's sayin' a lot!_

She entered her bedroom and closed the door quietly. Before she even turned around, she knew something was amiss. She could feel it like a chill running up her spine. Slowly, almost fearfully, she pivoted to survey the room. The sight that greeted her nearly stopped her heart.

Atop every single possible surface from her bed to her dresser to her vanity, even on the thick, cream-colored carpet were thousands -- if not millions -- of soft, delicate rose petals. They were scattered about in a shower of red and white, bathing the room in their rich, heady scent.

As she approached the bed, she noticed the rectangular shape of paper lying amidst the petals. Her heart began to pound and she felt moisture build on the palms of her hands, as she remembered opening a previous envelope containing a letter she would have much rather forgotten. With trembling hands but an iron determination, she picked up the piece of paper, unfolded it and read the handwritten message within.

_À bientôt, mon chèrie. Je t'aime._  
[See you soon, my darling. I love you.]

A warm smile found its way to her lips and she released the pent-up breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Feeling her earlier tiredness slip away, she turned to get ready for her rendezvous with the note's 'anonymous' writer.

- oOo -

The club was packed. Not nearly as much as it would have been on a busy Friday or Saturday night, but enough to fill the dance floor with sweaty bodies that simply wanted to let loose. Remy surveyed the room. Under the dimmed lights he could make out several familiar faces: fellow musicians, a couple of actors, and a number of people from their recording label, all unwinding from a long day's work. Inwardly, he grinned. This would help their cover even more. Seemingly two acquaintances who just happened to bump into each other one night at a local club. He had already spotted Rogue sitting in a circular booth with Guido and Logan off to the side. From the slight untidiness of her hair, he could tell that she had been here for awhile, no doubt accepting the numerous offers to dance that always came her way.

As he watched from the bar, a young man approached her table, apparently unfazed by the two brawny bodyguards seated on either side of her. Remy recognized him as one of X-Gene's numerous employees whom they dealt with on a regular basis -- Brian something, holding a position in the marketing department, if he remembered correctly. He saw Rogue smile as she slide out from the booth and placed her hand in Brian's, permitting him to lead her onto the edge of the dance floor. She wouldn't allow him to go any further than that though, choosing to stay within easy reach of both Logan and Guido should trouble arise.

Remy hung back, soaking up the sight of her without being too conspicuous. As much as he was aching to, he couldn't go to her immediately after arriving; that would be a sure sign that he was here because of her. Instead, he mingled with the other club patrons, knocking back drinks, and occasionally flirting with various women.

Thirty minutes, two drinks and three phone numbers later, he had about all that he could stand. He needed to be with her. At least next to her, if not touching her. He gave a small nod to both Damien and Hank at the end of the bar, and excused himself from his conversation. Meeting his security halfway, the trio moved through the crowd toward Rogue's table, stopping only to exchange pleasantries with several acquaintances.

Catching her eye, Remy grinned devilishly. "Fancy meetin' you here, _chère,"_ he said, for the benefit of anyone who happened to be listening in on the conversation.

"Sugah," she greeted, smiling up at him as Guido stood and made his way to the other side of the booth so that Remy could slide in beside her. "Nice ta see ya again. How've ya been?"

"Good. I've been good. Still on tour, ya know how dat goes. What 'bout yaself? Finished de new record?"

Underneath the table, she could feel Remy's leg press up against her own. An electric heat shot through her body. "Yeah, all done. We're rehearsin' now fo' th' tour."

Remy glanced at their bodyguards who, from the looks of it, were having a lively discussion regarding defensive techniques. "Back on de road 'gain, eh?" His hand disappeared beneath the tabletop.

"Soon. In 'bout three weeks." She let out a small gasp as his fingers found their way onto her inner thigh, smoothly making small circles on the surface of her leather pants. Turning away from her for a moment, he looked around the room, nodding a slight greeting to someone in the crowd. She knew that was a distraction, designed to draw attention away from the rather intimate act he was performing on her thigh.

When he faced her again, his expression was blank, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. "Ya plannin' on gettin' in shape b'fore ya head back out, _chère?_ After all, tours c'n be strenuous on a body, y'know."

The man was living dangerously. His message was clear, to her at least, and could have easily been interpreted by someone nearby if they'd simply read between the lines.

_Well, two can play,_ she thought as she lifted his hand off her leg and began to run her fingertips across the planes of his palm. With agonizing slowness, she encased his index finger with her own five digits, creating a shell of warmth around him. Leisurely, she drew her flesh along the length of his forefinger, continuing in an even back and forth motion.

Remy had been watching her eyes throughout her little exploration of his hand, but when her nails began raking up his finger he had to look away. It reminded him too much of another activity they had engaged in some months ago, and the memory was stirring up some very inappropriate thoughts, considering their current surroundings. He reached for his drink with his free hand and downed it with one swallow. Disentangling himself from her maddening touch, he said quietly, "You win, _chère_… f'r now."

She smiled coyly at him before leaning in and whispering in his ear, "Took ya long 'nough ta get yoah Cajun behind ovah here, cute as it may be." She reclined back into her seat. "Honestly, Ah thought it'd take fo'evah fo' ya ta get past th' double platinum mark," she stated in a louder tone, setting up the pretense that their conversation was centered on business.

The comment was meant for any potential paparazzi sources lurking about unseen, but he wasn't fooled. He knew it held another connotation for him. Especially since he'd been talking to a well-endowed platinum blonde just before making his way over to her.

"No worries, _chère._ 'M fortunate people like de music," he replied, continuing their little charade. "Lady luck's been smilin' down on me since she gifted me wit' a lucky streak." Pointedly, his eyes caressed the white stripe running through her hair.

She would have blushed if it hadn't been for the commotion near the main entrance. A fight had broken out between two men, while a woman stood off to the side, screaming for them to stop. Bouncers came to break the troublemakers apart and escorted them out of the club.

From beside her, Logan grumbled low in his throat. "Told ya this wasn't a hot idea, darlin'. What if that bastard's here an' tries ta -- "

Rogue shot him a look that was obviously meant to silence him. From over her shoulder, Remy could see the reluctant change in Logan's expression.

"It's jus' a bar fight, sugah," Rogue cut in, before he could investigate the exchange between her and Logan. "Happens all th' time. Prob'ly jus' a jealous boyfriend or somethin'."

She turned to him then, with a look in her eyes that he had come to understand. It was a look that said their little game had gone on long enough and it was time to end it. He made a show of getting up along side Hank and Damien, before turning back to her and planting a platonic kiss on her cheek.

"Great t'see ya 'gain, _chère._ Ya should come over sometime an' do a track wit' me, maybe f'r de next album."

"Ah'd like that, sugah, sounds great. Good luck with th' rest o' yoah tour."

He grinned. "Same wit' yours."

She watched him weave through the crowd of people and duck out the exit, his bodyguards flanking him every step of the way. She waited another five minutes before pulling out the sliver of paper she knew Remy had left her. It never ceased to amaze her how easily he could slip things in and out of her pockets without her even noticing his movements. Sometimes she would experiment and wear the tightest clothes she owned just to see if he could still get something past her.

_Obviously he can,_ she thought, peering down at the beige leather pants that fit over her hips as if they were painted on. Casually pretending to adjust her boots, she unfolded the small note under the table. Once she had straightened, she quickly glanced down and read,

_One hour._

Although she didn't display any outward signs of the action, she groaned. She wanted to leave right then and there, follow him out the door and surprise him at his hotel room. Instead, she needed to be patient and keep up the pretense that he was nothing more than a fellow artist to her.

She forced herself to remain seated at the club for another good twenty minutes before she thought her insides would explode with excitement. Finally, she indicated to Guido and Logan that she was ready to leave. By this time, the number of people in the club had increased, making it difficult to cross the room without bumping into every other person.

"Sorry," she mumbled to someone whose arm she had hit with her shoulder. She turned around to offer a more proper apology but the person was already lost in the throng of bodies.

Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cool night air before Logan ushered her into the awaiting car. She was practically jumping in her seat on the ride home, eagerly anticipating her reunion with Remy.

- oOo -

He had been studying her every gesture from across the room. He took note of every smile, every nod, every dance she consented to, even the number of drinks she had consumed. She possessed a particular grace to her movements, a specific fluidity of motion that drew attention to her, like a moth to a flame. And there were certainly plenty of moths out there more than willing to receive burns. He could tell that a number of men wanted to approach her but were intimidated by the bodyguards protecting her. The precious few that did have the courage never got further than a dance and a thank you. It was only the Cajun jazz singer who'd been invited to sit down at her table.

He had been seething with anger the entire time LeBeau was with her. The man even had the audacity to turn his back on her, if only for a moment. If that had been him sitting only inches from her person, he wouldn't have taken his eyes off her even for a second.

When she got up to leave, he quickly moved to intercept. Ever his gracious and polite southern belle, she had even apologized to him when he had purposely brushed against her shoulder.

_Soon, my darling,_ he thought, suppressing his feelings of impatience. _Good things come to those who wait._

- oOo -

Pacing impatiently at the foot of her bed, Rogue was positively overflowing with excitement and anticipation, coupled with a slight tinge of apprehension. It was well past the one-hour mark and still no sign of Remy. She knew they would use that time to drive around the city, shaking off the fans or media that might be following them, before making their way over to the house. What worried her was the thought that they might not be able to lose any shadows behind them, forcing them to return to their hotel. They couldn't risk anyone seeing Remy coming or going from Rogue's home. If he were seen, the news of their relationship would spread like wildfire, and they didn't want that to happen just yet.

A knock sounded at her door and she all but ran to answer it.

"'Bout time, sugah! Ah was beginnin' ta think -- " The hall outside her room was empty. "Remy?" she called, stepping out and peering down the corridor.

A gentle breath tickled her ear just before two precise fingers poked her in the ribs, causing her to jump and turn in surprise. Before she could cry out or even react further, an arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her back into the room while shutting the door in one smooth motion.

By way of greeting, Remy's mouth hungrily sought out hers, his body pressing her firmly against the back of the door. She quickly forgot everything she had been worrying about earlier and lost herself in the sensation of his lips and tongue. His kiss was demanding, urgent. As if he were trying to make up for the months of being deprived of her touch, and she responded in kind. It was quite some time before they pulled away from one another, foreheads touching and chests heaving with the effort to catch their breath.

As the dizzying spell began to fade slightly and she was once again capable of coherent thought, she teased, "Well, Cajun, ya certainly know how ta beg fo' fo'giveness aftah makin' a lady wait."

He grinned at her comment, closing his eyes and softly nuzzling the side of her neck. "Sorry, _chère._ We had some technicalities t'take care o' b'fore we could get here."

"'Technicalities'?" she asked, concerned. "Th' press was followin' ya?"

"_Non."_ He lifted his head to look her in the eye. "Henri needed t'go back t'de hotel t'pick up his lucky rabbit's foot. Den we had t'stop by de market t'get some munchies f'r deir li'l poker game."

Rogue groaned. Over the past year, the card games had become somewhat of a tradition for their security teams, as well as somewhat of a hassle to break up. At each game, the money being exchanged often reached well above the thousand-dollar mark, giving all those involved reason to be a bit touchy. By the end of the game, teeth would be bared, tempers would blaze and threats would be made. It would become so intense that you would think these men despised each other to no end, but in reality they were all on friendly terms and respected each other immensely. That was, until the next poker game. Rogue had long suspected that Remy was dying to join in all the gambling fun -- being a card shark himself -- but since the games were only held during their nights together, he chose their form of entertainment over the boys'.

He took hold of her hands and pulled her away from the door, leading her into the room. "Miss me, _belle?"_

"Yeah, Remy," she smiled, her tone half sarcastic, "in th' short while that we were apart, Ah was ready ta cut off mah own arm, Ah missed ya so much."

He raised the aforementioned body part and pretended to exam it thoroughly. Bending formerly, he lovingly kissed the back of her hand. "'M glad t'see dat no harm has come t'any part o' ya exquisite body." His kisses trailed down the length of her arm, accenting each of his words.

She could feel the familiar flow of heat spread through her veins, slowly igniting her senses. Looking up and catching his eye, she felt like she was drowning, losing herself in his hypnotic stare. It was such a rush, like being thrown into white water rapids without a life vest. There was nothing she could do but be swept away by the current.

He smiled, and honestly, she could feel her knees threaten to give way. Damn, but the man was gorgeous. She needed to sit down before he made her collapse onto the floor. He joined her on the edge of the bed.

"You get m'su'prise, _chère?"_ he asked, noticing for the first time the cleanness of her bedroom, not a single rose petal in sight.

She grinned and then walked around to her night table, opening the drawer and extracting a medium-sized wooden box. She returned to his side and lifted the cover, revealing the petals within. "Rosie put th' rest inta Momma's ceramic bowls an' vases, an' spread 'em around th' house." She kissed him quickly as a sign of thanks before adding, "She says yoah th' sweetest boy she's evah met an' she's gonna kiss ya th' next time she sees ya." A spark of humor crept into her eyes. "Right before she kicks yoah behind all th' way back ta New Orleans fo' makin' her clean up aftah ya."

He laughed heartily, falling back onto her bed. "Remind me t'send her some flowers an' choc'lates, _mignonne._ Wouldn' want any o' ya fam'ly mad at me. It'd be sure suicide." He reached over and rubbed the small of her back with his hand.

Turning towards him, she asked, "What time's yoah flight t'morrow?"

He sighed. He didn't want to be reminded of how little time they had together. Or of the fact that they probably wouldn't see each other for another three months… or more.

"Not 'til seven-thirty, but I have t'leave here by five. Still gotta swing by de hotel an' pick up our stuff."

"Ya could've jus' brought yoah things with ya, since y'all're spendin' th' night anyway."

"An' let de hotel staff tip off de press dat I slept somewhere else while in town? _Non._ Least dis way dey'll jus' t'ink I was out clubbin' all night."

She curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. "Ah don' like this anymore, Remy."

"_Quoi, petite?"_

"All this," she waved her hand in the air, "this sneakin' 'round, makin' sure no one sees us, no one hears us. Pretendin' we're jus' friends whenevah we're in public." She lifted his shirt a bit and ran her hand across his abdomen, letting it rest at his side. "But mostly Ah hate not bein' able ta see ya more often. It's killin' me."

"I know, _mon amour,_ I know," he soothed, kissing her temple softly. His breath tickled her skin. "I feel de same way, but what c'n we do? If we let de public know 'bout us, de more we won' get any privacy. Dey'll be followin' us 'round twenty-four/seven wit' all sorts o' questions 'bout our relationship." He rolled onto his side to face her, slipping a hand to her waist. "An' when dey get tired o' dat, dey'll start makin' stuff up, jus' t'sell de story."

His heart twisted at the look of quiet acceptance on her face. There wasn't anything they could do that they weren't already doing. He hated the sneaking around as much as she did. He was an adult, dammit! Free to date whomever he chose. The rest of the world could go to hell, for all he cared.

But it was part of the job, part of the responsibility. The price to pay for having your dream come true. Both of them were aware of that going into the business. They knew that sacrifices had to be made in order to live their dreams. They just wished it wasn't so difficult.

He tucked his finger under her chin and gently forced her to face him. "What ya wanna do, _chère?_ Ya t'ink it's time t'tell de press?" He saw the hesitant look in her eyes. "It's up t'you, Rogue. Whatever ya decide t'do, 'm behind ya."

He was relinquishing control of the situation to her, letting her choose the road they would take together, fully supporting her either way. Where did this man come from and what had she done to deserve him?

Imitating his earlier gesture, she reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. "No, sugah," she whispered, meeting his eyes with an intent stare that held everything she was feeling at that moment. "Ah don' wanna share ya with anyone jus' yet. An' if that means keepin' 'us' a secret then that's what Ah want. When it's all said an' done, sugah, all Ah want is you."

A low groan rumbled from his throat as a hand slithered its way beneath her blouse, caressing the skin there. "S'funny, _mon coeur,"_ he whispered back, teasing her lips with his own. "I was jus' t'inkin' de same t'ing 'bout you."

- oOo -

"Mah turn."

Remy looked down at her expectantly. He was propped up against the headboard of her bed with several pillows supporting his frame. Rogue's back was pressed snugly against his bare chest, his arms firmly around her torso, and their legs entangled together, along with most of the bedcovers.

For the past hour, they had been trading war stories of their respective experiences in the music business. The range of topics covered everything from most loved/hated producer -- the selection had been extensive -- to craziest fan stunt -- Rogue had won that one with her story of a fan who was willing to eat horse manure in order to get tickets to her show. Remy had no choice but to admit defeat in that particular battle.

"Th' most unusual thing ya had ta sign an autograph on."

He thought for a minute before commenting, "Well, I wouldn' call it 'unusual' per se, but it was certainly in'erestin'." His hand glided down the side of her body and across her hip to come to a stop at the inside of her thigh.

"Well?" she persisted, trying to ignore the warmth that was emanating from his hand. "What was it?"

"'It,'" he tapped her leg lightly, "was right here."

She tried to twist around. "Ya signed a girl's thigh?"

He buried his face in her apple-scented hair and grinned at the incredulous tone of her voice. Nodding, he affirmed her question, feeling her body stiffen slightly against him. He knew she was jealous, and strangely enough that thought soothed him. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that the woman who had asked for that particular autograph was actually a happily married mother of three who just happened to have a bit of a wild streak in her. Instead, he tried to pacify her mood.

"_Chère,_ y'know…" he began but trailed off. She had shifted positions against him, causing a great deal of her legs to escape from underneath the covers. The sight of her long, creamy limbs was tempting to say the least. He was about to run his hand down their endless length when an image popped into his head. A memory, really, of another night… another bed…

_Non,_ he thought as the blood drained from his face. _Merde_… Desperately, he pushed the thought out of his mind.

Sensing the change in his mood, Rogue sat up and turned toward him, a hand clutching the sheets to her chest. Her face was full of concern. "What's th' matter, sugah?"

He couldn't answer her. Instead, he simply stared at the woman before him. Her hair fell down her back and off one shoulder, tousled from the times he had run his fingers through the silky locks. Her eyes were bright and full of ardor. Her skin was glowing and flushed from their recent lovemaking.

"Remy?"

He captured her mouth with his own, searing all the emotions he felt into the kiss. Gently laying her back down on the bed, he let his actions depict what he couldn't find the words to say.

- oOo -

"_Chère,"_ he whispered softly from his crouching position at the side of the bed. He brushed away the hair from her forehead. "_Chère,_ it's time t'get up."

She groaned irritably but moved into his touch. Mumbling sleepily, she replied, "Five mo' minutes…"

He smiled. When it came to waking up in the morning, she was just as bad as him. "_Non, petite,_ ya have t'get up now. What would ya _maman_ say if she found out ya missed rehearsal 'cause ya were sleepin' in wit' ya lover?" Tenderly, he relieved her of the bed sheets and scooped her up into his arms. She snuggled up against him as he made his way into the bathroom.

Remy had woken up a half hour earlier, showering and dressing before preparing an impromptu surprise for his sleeping paramour. He had filled the tub with warm water and a small amount of bath oil, sprinkling some rose petals into the mix to add to the rich aroma emanating from the water.

Rogue's head perked up at the fragrance that enveloped around her. "Whatcha doin', Cajun?" she asked as he smoothly deposited her into the awaiting bath. The heat of the water was at first a shock to her senses, but it soon lulled her into relaxation. "Ah thought ya wanted ta wake me up," she teased as he knelt down beside her. "Drawin' me up such a luxurious bath's only gonna make me wanna sleep more."

He picked up a nearby washcloth and lathered it with soap. "Dat's why de water's not as hot as ya usu'lly like it, _petite."_ He began to wash the arm closet to him. "An' don' ya be gettin' any fanciful ideas 'bout fallin' back asleep neither. 'M sendin' Logan up here t'come bangin' on de bedroom door if ya ain' downstairs in thirty minutes."

She laughed at his motherly tone and playfully flicked water into his face. "Yes, suh!"

Handing her the washcloth, he said regretfully, "Ya better finish up yaself, _mignonne._ If I go any further dan ya arm, ya won' be enjoyin' dat bath by yaself f'r long."

Seductively, she looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. "An' would that be so bad, _M'sieu_ LeBeau?" Leisurely, she leaned over and brushed her lips to his, teasing him with the slight touch.

His senses were going crazy at her nearness, screaming at him to discard his clothing and join her in the luscious bath water. And he would have too -- eagerly, in fact -- if it hadn't been for his stupid sense of honor and responsibility. (When had he developed that particular trait?) He knew that they both had obligations to fill and they wouldn't be able to accomplish them by basking in each other's company, no matter how much they wanted to.

He pulled away from her a little, just enough to break contact. "Behave yaself, ya li'l minx."

Leaning back into the tub, she pouted, a touch dissatisfied. "Thief," she shot at him, feigning the bite in her voice.

"Runaway," he returned. His hand penetrated the surface of the water and tickled her side. Water splashed about as she tried laughingly to evade his hand.

After some time, he finally took pity on her and stopped his assault. She was leaning against the tiled wall away from him, playfully cautious of another attack on her ticklish spot. She looked so breath-takingly beautiful, just sitting there as she was, her hair somewhat damp from the water, her breathing gradually returning to normal after the exertion of defending herself.

"C'mere, _chère,_ an' gimme a kiss."

Obediently, she angled her body toward his and obliged him, fully understanding that this was their kiss goodbye. She knew he could feel all her longing, all her desire and all her sadness at their parting in that one kiss, tearing at both their souls and leaving an open wound that wouldn't heal until their next reunion together.

Slowly and with an iron will, he drew himself away from her kiss and stood. She gazed up at him with such sad eyes that he almost lost his resolve to leave.

"See ya later, _chère,"_ he said softly, blatantly refusing to use the word 'goodbye.' He didn't want the concrete reminder that he wouldn't be seeing her for a while.

"Later," she repeated.

He reached down and caressed the tips of her fingers before laying a kiss on the back of her hand. Catching her eyes, he whispered huskily, "_Je t'aime."_

"Ah love you, too, sugah."

And with that, he was gone. The sound of the door clicking into place echoed back to her ears.

----

**A/N: **  
1) I apologize for the 'Brit' comment, no offense was meant. That was just Bobby being silly. The 'Congress' line was Betsy being silly.  
2) The idea with the rose petals actually came from my friend, Gale. A few years ago, a guy who liked her -- he wasn't her boyfriend -- got permission from her mom, and with the help of a mutual friend, filled her entire room with roses!


	6. Leakage

**Disclaimer: **Still Marvel's. I don't know why I even bother.

**A/N: **To all the reviewers, you guys sure know how to feed an addiction!

**CHAPTER 6  
Leakage**

Katherine Pryde was developing a serious headache.

She was at the local supermarket in her hometown of Deerfield, Illinois with her best friend, Tracy. They had been wandering the aisles of the market for the past twenty minutes stocking up on essential teenage 'brain food.'

"And then Jimmy goes to Amber -- " Tracy stopped her latest line of gossip to look at her friend. "Hey, Kitty, are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Kitty shook her head slightly and refocused her attention on her friend. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Man, were you spacing out on me again?"

"I was not."

"Really? What was I saying then?"

Kitty sighed. "Okay, so maybe I was." She pushed their junk food-filled shopping cart closer to the checkout counter. "I'm just worried about this trig exam we have tomorrow. We should be home studying for it like we're supposed to, instead of being here rotting our teeth right out of the gums."

"O ye of little fun. We'll get back to the dull and boring cram-fest that we've been on for the past four hours just as soon as we're done with this well-deserved munchie break." She shot Kitty a dirty look. "Besides, we all know you're going to ace the test anyway, cram session or no cram session."

Kitty opened her mouth to retort to Tracy's comment, but before she could, the other girl let out a squeal of delight.

"Look, the latest issue of 'Rumor'!" She reached over and plucked a copy off the magazine rack.

"I can't believe you like reading that nonsense, Trace. It's a tabloid, for crying out loud! They have articles like 'Kids Who Grow Hair on Their Tongues' or 'Brother and Sister Conceive Child Together.' It's pure trash."

"So maybe they've got a funky item or two that aren't really believable, but you gotta admit they're fun to read." She stopped on an article that caught her eye. "Here's an example of _realistic_ journalism -- 'Remy LeBeau and Rogue: Making Beautiful Music Together?'"

"What?! Let me see that!" Kitty snatched the paper out of Tracy's hands and peered at the article. Sure enough the heading was there, as well as two accompanying photographs. The first picture showed Rogue leaning in close to Remy's ear, obviously whispering something to him. The second photo caught Remy in the act of kissing Rogue's cheek. Quickly, Kitty scanned the words, reading aloud.

"'Could country jazz king, Remy LeBeau, be searching for a new queen? He and sassy southern diva, Rogue, were spotted in a New York nightclub last week, looking "friendly," according to other club patrons. Is love in the air for these two songbirds?'" The article went on to describe each of their success stories.

Kitty handed the tabloid back to Tracy, a look of annoyance on her face. "That's it? That's all they got? Three-fourths of that article is old news. They're trying to make an issue out of something that's probably just professional respect for a fellow artist."

"I don't know, Kit," her friend said as she replaced the paper on the rack. "What about Dazzler and Longshot? I mean, they were all chummy-chummy in public before they announced that they'd secretly gotten married. Not to mention Lila Cheney who's been -- "

Kitty held up her hand. "All right, all right. I get your point." She smiled. "If only our test tomorrow was on celebrity gossip instead of trigonometry. You'd be at the top of the class, Trace."

- oOo -

_It's gotta be here somewhere,_ Rogue thought as she rummaged through the closet. _Ah know Ah brought it with me._

She was in the back of her tour bus, in the private room that was designated hers, in search of her favorite black coat.

"Child, if you aren't out here in five minutes…" came her mother's voice from the front of the bus.

"Jus' a second, Momma, Ah'm jus' lookin' fo' somethin'. Karen," she called to her assistant, who was with her mother on the opposite end of the vehicle. "Have ya seen mah black jacket?"

"I think it's behind the door," the other woman replied.

Rogue smiled as she found the long sought-after garment and slipped it on. Moving toward the mirror, she surveyed her appearance. The coat fell to her mid-thigh, sharply contrasting with the light blue of her cotton slacks and pure white of her midriff-bearing blouse. She loved this particular article of clothing. Aside from the fact that it had been an unexpected gift from Remy, she liked that it could be matched to just about any outfit she owned. She wore it as often as she could. So much in fact, Guido joked that it'd soon become her signature trademark by which the public could identify her with.

Reaching over, she picked up her cell phone from a nearby table and turned back to the mirror. Wanting to imitate her friend, Ororo, for just a second, she slid her hands into the coat's pockets. Turning to one side, she pouted. Then turning toward the other side, she looked down her nose at her reflection as she had seen runway models do. Inside her pocket, her hand felt the familiar crunch of paper. Curiously, she drew it out.

_Tonight I was the unseen shadow. Watching you. But soon you will be with me. In my arms. Beneath me. Screaming out my name. Until then._

The air rushed out of her lungs in a painful breath and she lost her grip on her cell, causing it to crash noisily against the floor. It was him. Her stalker.

But how? How could he have gotten the note into her _jacket?_ Her mind whirled, trying to come up with the answer. When was the last time she had worn the coat in public? Thoughts raced through her brain. It couldn't have been recently; neither her stylist nor her mother had let her worn the garment to any of their recent public engagements, opting instead for fashion that was a little less subtle. She racked her memories. When? When?!

The color drained from her face. The club. The night she had met Remy. But it couldn't have been… that was six weeks ago. Had she been walking around with this crackpot's handiwork in her pocket for a month and a half?! She couldn't believe it. But then again it wasn't all that unbelievable, she reasoned, considering she never used her coat pockets. Six weeks…

She didn't want to, but for some reason she couldn't tear her eyes from the words pasted on the paper. They were sick, perverted. Thoughts about her. By a man she didn't even now… didn't _want_ to know.

A knock sounded at her door and she quickly jammed the note back into her pocket. No one could know about the second letter; her mother would have no qualms about canceling the tour halfway through their journey, and she couldn't let that happen.

Karen popped her head into the room. "Did you find it, Rogue? Raven's just about ready to shoot herself."

"Yeah, sugah, Ah got it." Picking up her fallen cell phone, she followed Karen out the door.

- oOo -

Having just finished with a local radio interview, Rogue stood waiting for the elevator with Raven, Karen and her security team. Finding the second letter had scared her, but she pushed that feeling out of her mind, refusing to let it interfere with her schedule. She had work to do and a dream to fulfill, and by God she would do it, with or without the psycho watching in the sidelines.

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning, she saw a rather large man with his daughter, who couldn't have been more than six years old. The child was crying profusely, hugging a rag doll to her chest and screaming for her mother. The father, obviously agitated and fed up with her behavior, raised the back of his hand and slapped the child across her face, sending her reeling to the floor.

In that instant, Rogue's entire world melted away and she was once again the terrified eight-year-old succumbing to her father's abuse. Only this time, her nineteen-year-old mind demanded that she do something about it. Launching herself at the man, she all but tackled him; the momentum from her initial assault caused him to stagger but he did not fall. Desperately, almost mindlessly, she clawed at his face and chest, venting out all the fear and emotions she had thought long ago settled within her.

It took both Logan and Guido to pry her off the man. But even in their grip, she struggled, attempting to kick at the father with all her strength.

"What kind o' a man are you?" she screamed at him, her fists clenched. "Hittin' a defenseless child! Yoah own DAUGHTER!" She lunged at him again, but her bodyguards held her firmly.

"Rogue! ROGUE!" Her mother's voice drew her out of her trance-like state and forced her mind to focus. "That's enough, darling."

She locked eyes with the woman before her, the woman who had taken her away from the abuse in the first place. She looked into her mother's honey-colored gaze and realized that she was safe. There would be no more abuse, there hadn't been for a very long time, because her mother would protect her; she would keep her safe from the boogeyman lurking in the dark corners of her mind.

Gradually, her nerves calmed and she surveyed her surroundings. She was stunned to find quite a number of people gathered in the hallway, having heard the disturbance. Someone had handed the father several tissues and he was cleaning the considerable amount of blood from his face. The little girl was off to one side, still clutching her doll, her eyes wide at the commotion she had caused.

"Logan, get her out of here," Raven said under her breath, nodding slightly toward Rogue. "I'll take care of this."

They left her then, climbing into the elevator and making their way to the tour bus. They didn't see Raven again until much later in the day, just before Rogue was set to perform that night.

"Momma, Ah'm sorry," Rogue began in a rush. "Ah know it was a stupid thing ta do, 'specially in front o' all those people but somethin' inside me jus' went crazy an' Ah couldn't help -- "

Raven silenced her with a gesture. "What's done is done. I couldn't stop the media from finding out, but they already know your history as a child so it won't come as a shock to anyone." She sat down before she added, "Some might even admire you for taking on a man twice your size. Perhaps you could take that into consideration, darling, the next time you feel like starting a brawl with someone who looks like he could snap your neck with his little finger."

Rogue sat down next to her mother and asked seriously, "What happened ta th' li'l girl?"

"The police are taking care of it. I'm sure children's services will be looking into it as well." She heard her daughter's sigh of relief and smiled. Raven drew her into an embrace like she had done so many times when Rogue was a child. "Are you all right, darling?"

Rogue nodded. "Ah don' know what happened. Ah mean, th' stuff with Daddy happened a while ago an' Ah'd come ta terms with it already. You an' Reenie an' th' counselin' helped me get through it. Ah guess seein' that man hit his daughter triggered somethin' in me."

Raven soothed her, comforted her. "It's over, child. You know that, don't you?"

"Ah know, Momma, Ah know."

- oOo -

The sound was a tangible force that pressed against his body; the steady beat of it like a wave crashing against the shore. It assaulted his ears with a fervor that he was sure would cause him to go deaf. But it was his drug, his addiction; something he would surely die without.

Remy turned slowly, completing a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree rotation to face the sea of people behind him. The stadium lights were dim, casting ghostly shadows across the audience and stage. He didn't think it was possible, but as he turned, the sound grew louder, more intense. The entire building shook with the force of it all.

The band began to play and the music took hold of his soul, entrancing him in its well-known spell. The roar of the crowd was anything but ignorable, but for the moment it was little more than a whisper in the back of his mind. The music was thunderous, unrelenting, demanding his attention.

He would miss this, performing in front of thousands of people, feeling the rush of energy radiating from them and fueling his adrenaline high. The tour was almost over; only a handful of shows more to go. And he wouldn't be on the road again for at least another year. He needed to savor these feelings, soak up as much as he could to tide him over until the next time he got a chance to perform again.

Blissfully, he closed his eyes, belting out the familiar words with a voice filled with passion. Was there anything better in the world than this feeling? It was exhilarating. Mind-numbing. And far, far too intoxicating.

He gradually opened his eyes again and was shocked to see a woman on the stage a few feet away from him. It wasn't unusual for security to select a female fan from the audience and allow her access to the stage, but that particular part of the show wasn't until later in the second half. Without skipping a beat or a lyric, Remy turned to security to silently question the change in plans, but was met with nothing but darkened shadows in the wings.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as suspicion flooded his body. Continuing with his performance, he turned back to the woman and realized he had seen her before. She was the same woman that night in Los Angeles, all those weeks ago. An undeniably sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach as he watched the woman approach him, casually strolling his way with her hands hidden behind her. Once she was within arm's reach, she smiled up at him with soft, brown eyes. Strangely enough, even the music, once so powerful and strong, was now pushed into the background along with the noise of the audience.

The woman kept up her radiant smile as she took a step back and pulled a thick newspaper from behind her, obviously wanting him to read the headline printed there. He glanced down -- his curiosity, mingled with fear, getting the better of him -- and tried to read. The words were jumbled, blurry, making it impossible for him to make out the words. This seemed to amuse the woman and she laughed slightly.

"Remy," she said lightly, making a tsking sound as she softly shook her head from side to side. "Remy, Remy, Remy."

He felt a shaking at his shoulder. It was irritating really and he attempted to shrug the person responsible off.

"Remy."

The shaking persisted and he opened his eyes to focus on the person before him.

"Has anyone ever informed you that you are a real pain to wake up in the morning?" Hank asked him when he finally got the young singer to open his eyes.

Remy sat up in bed and looked around him. He was in his hotel room, and judging from the bright stream of sunlight trespassing from beneath the curtains, it was already midmorning.

_Dream,_ he thought as he fell back into bed. _Jus' a dream._

He could hear Hank moving across the room, opening the cabinet that held the entertainment unit. Propping himself on an elbow, Remy watched as the other man inserted a tape into the VCR and turned the television set on.

"Kinda earlier in de day f'r a movie marathon, don' ya t'ink, Henri? 'Sides which, we don' even have de proper materials: popcorn, beer, beautiful woman t'pretend dat she's scared at de nasty parts o' a slasher flick."

Hank ignored his comment as he slid back into a chair and hit the 'Play' button. "We taped this off the news last night while you were on stage. I thought you might want to see it."

Remy sat up fully and turned toward the television. The news anchor was an attractive ebony-haired woman dressed in a soft gray business suit.

"Earlier today," she began, "multi-platinum singer/song writer, Rogue, attacked a man just outside the WRKP studios in Memphis, Tennessee. Witnesses say the nineteen-year-old musician assaulted forty-two-year-old, John Wynberg, after the man slapped his daughter across the face. Rogue, who has been very open with regards to her own abuse as a child, was quickly rushed from the scene by her security before authorities arrived. Wynberg's six-year-old daughter is currently in the custody of the local children's services while allegations of child abuse are being investigated. As of yet, no charges have been pressed against either Wynberg or Rogue.

"In a related story, rumors surrounding the alleged relationship between Rogue and country/jazz superstar, Remy LeBeau, continue to circulate. For the past several weeks, fans have been speculating on the possibility of a secret romance between the two artists. Representatives of both singers declined to comment. Rogue is slated to fly to Europe next week for a string of promotional appearances. Her latest album, 'Where Are You?,' is set to be released at the end of the week."

Remy leaned back against the bed's headboard as Hank switched off the TV and the VCR. He was feeling both a mixture of pride and concern. It was obvious to anybody with one good eye that Rogue was a passionate woman. Once she made up her mind about something, there was no swaying her from it. He knew how strongly she felt about any form of abuse, but most especially towards children. Her reaction wasn't the least bit surprising. He was proud of the way she stood up for the little girl, whereas others might have chosen to look the other way. What concerned him was the effect the incident might have had on her. It must have reminded her of her own childhood to warrant such a severe reaction.

Peter appeared at the door of the bedroom, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Remy, there is someone here to see you," he said.

"Who?"

"A deliveryman. He says that he cannot release the package to anyone but you."

Remy climbed out of bed, quickly donning jeans and a sweatshirt, before exiting the room. He was met by a man in a company uniform armed with a clipboard and a thin manila envelope.

The man smiled pleasantly and greeted, "Good morning, sir. I have a package for you." He handed Remy the clipboard and pointed to a line at the bottom. "If you could just sign next to the 'X'…" Once he had done so, the man took the clipboard back and handed the envelope to Remy. "Thank you very much, sir. Have a nice day."

"_Merci._ You too."

Once he had left, Remy sank into one of the chairs to open the package. Pulling out the sheets of paper that he found within, he began to read. After a few minutes, his eyes widened and he let out a low hiss of breath.

"What's the matter, boss?" Damien asked from his perch across the room.

Instead of answering, Remy leaned forward in his seat and spat out, "_Putain de merde!"_

Hank's own eyes widened at the French curse and he made his way to Remy's side. "What does it say?"

Remy handed the papers to him, lowered his head and then proceeded to bury his hands in his hair. Before Hank had a chance to scan them, he said, "Dey're documents. _Legal_ documents." He raised his head. "'M bein' sued f'r paternity."

----

**A/N: ** ~ dum da dum dum...

* From what I understand, the curse Remy uttered means 'F***ing hell.'


	7. Midnight Again

**Disclaimer: **I call dibs if Marvel ever decides they don't want the X-Men anymore! Just so we're all clear...

**A/N: **As usual, thanks to all the reviewers! Especially to Jean1 who has gotten me into the habit of checking and re-checking my chapters just to make sure that I didn't leave any little story holes behind. I wanted to address her last review (If you don't know what I'm taking about, you're gonna have to check out the review board). In it, she made a lot of valid points, but unfortunately I can't comment on any of them without giving away some of the story. It's either that or I simply could be a sick and deranged person who merely wants to keep all of you in suspense a mite longer (*insert psychotic laugh here*). All I can tell you is that I already have the plot paned out and I know how it's going to end. Not that that helps anyone in terms of figuring everything out, but at least I offered something... : )

**CHAPTER 7  
Midnight Again**

The familiar melody of Sesame Street's theme song filled the hotel suite yet again, much to the regret of the adult occupants. Unfortunately, they were all at the mercy of the energetic one-year-old child who was currently singing and dancing in front of the television.

"Ya know, Ah like Burt an' Ernie as much as th' next civilized person," Rogue began as she watched Rachel start up another round of her solo performance, "But there's only so much a body can take o' them 'sunny days.'"

Jean grimaced and motioned to the TV screen. "You're lucky I was able to convince her to cut it down to this small amount. Otherwise she would have brought her entire collection."

Rogue's eyes widened at the words 'this small amount.' Quickly glancing at the last shelf of the entertainment unit, she took in the sight of the numerous VHS tapes and DVDs that left little room for anything else. "An' 'sactly how big is Rachel's collection back home?"

"About four times as big as this, and no doubt getting bigger as we speak. Her father has a little problem when it comes to saying no to his little girl."

"Speakin' o' Scott," Rogue turned her attention back to Jean. "Why didn' he join us fo' this li'l workin' vacation ta Europe?"

"He wanted to come, but he couldn't leave; not with Charles gone, too."

Rogue smiled mischievously. "Poor boy's prob'ly drivin' himself insane, what with his ladies gone fo' a whole two weeks!"

Jean had finally given in at the last minute and had agreed to accompany Rogue on her promotional tour. They had left the States seven days ago, first traveling to the United Kingdom and Germany before making their way to Paris, France.

"Ah wish ya'd change yoah mind an' stay until we all go back, 'stead o' takin' a commercial flight home next week."

"I would, Dixie, but I think Rachel would miss her father too much."

Rogue smirked, raising an eyebrow in the process. "Rachel would miss her father, or _you_ would miss Rachel's father?"

Jean lightly threw a pillow at her friend. "You think you're so smart, don't you?"

"Jus' callin' 'em like Ah see 'em, sugah."

"I'm perfectly capable of being away from my husband for a few weeks."

"Sure ya are." The comment was followed by a knowing grin.

Jean pointedly ignored her expression. Instead she asked, "Shouldn't Ororo be here by now?"

Rogue checked her watch and frowned. "Yoah right, she should. Trust that girl ta always wanna make a dramatic entrance."

"I wonder where she is. The fun-filled day of eating, shopping and general merry-making can't commence without her."

"If that girl stands us up, Ah swear Ah ain't speakin' ta her again."

"Is that a promise?" a voice asked from the doorway.

"Row-row!" Rachel squealed in delight, spotting the newcomer first and rushing over to her as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Ororo knelt down on the carpet and embraced the little girl tightly. "It is so good to see you again, little one." She released Rachel and then stood to greet Jean. "And you as well, my friend."

"How long has it been, 'Ro?" Jean smiled as they pulled out of their hug.

The other woman laughed. "Merely a couple of months, Jean, but it seems much longer." She turned to Rogue, who had gotten up from her seat and was currently walking toward her. "As for you, young lady. Another number one record on your hands, I see." She moved to embrace her friend.

Before Ororo's arms could encircle her frame, Rogue took a step back. Deftly, she grabbed the fingers of her friend's hand and held it up for her own inspection.

"An' jus' what do we have here?" she asked, indicating one of her fingers.

Ororo said with mock innocence, "Why, it's called a ring, Dixie."

"Obviously," replied Rogue, dryly. "A big ring. A big, _diamond_ ring. A big, diamond ring that jus' happens ta be on th' _ring_ finger o' yoah _left_ hand."

"So it would seem." Ororo grinned cattishly.

Rogue echoed Rachel's earlier squeal of delight as she threw her arms around the older woman. "Ah'm so happy fo' ya, 'Ro!" She felt Jean's arms wrap around the two of them, joining in their embrace.

The trio made their way to the balcony where lunch had been set up for them, the two younger women admiring the engagement ring on Ororo's finger the entire time. Rachel, who had gotten over the initial excitement of seeing her other godmother again, returned to her earlier singing and dancing.

Once they were seated, Jean asked, "So, Ms. Munroe, who is the lucky man?"

"Quick and direct to the point, aren't we?" Ororo picked up her glass and smiled over the rim. "I intended to add a little suspense and mystery to the topic first."

"Ya better not, sugah. Not if ya wanna live ta see yoah honeymoon!"

Ororo's smile widened. It was a wonderful feeling to be among friends again. She had missed that feeling. The modeling world -- though interesting and challenging in its own right -- was filled with superficial people who were only interested in the outer shell that was presented. And although she was in no way a ditz or an airhead, as most people perceived models to be, she sometimes had trouble breaking that particular stereotype. The typical model 'groupie' tended to treat the girls as if they would shatter if handled too roughly. In general, the top models were cooed and babied probably just as much as her goddaughter, Rachel. At twenty-six, Ororo was one of the top 'older' models and definitely subject to the baby treatment, which was not at all to her liking.

"We have not seen each other in months," she said, in way of response to Rogue's earlier comment. "I wish to hear about the two of you."

"Oh, now she's jus' stallin' fo' time!"

"She's right, Ororo, let's hear it."

"Very well." She took another sip from her glass to draw out their anticipation a tad longer, which earned her a dirty look from Rogue. "It is Lucas."

Ororo rather enjoyed the mildly shocked looks that appeared on their faces after her announcement. It wasn't often that she could get something past the two women; they simply knew each other too well to do that. So it was particularly gratifying to see their mouths agape in surprise.

"Lucas _Bishop?_ Our Bishop? Ah mean, yoah Bishop… Ah mean…" Rogue was all but stuttering. She looked around the table. "Are we all thinkin' 'bout th' same person here?"

During their days as Midnight, aside from the extensive security teams responsible for overall security, each girl had been assigned a personal bodyguard to see to her safety. Logan had been in charge of Rogue, Guido for Jean and Bishop for Ororo. When Jean had retired from the music scene, it seemed only natural for Rogue to absorb Guido into her employment. In Ororo's case, since she was still in the public eye, Bishop continued on as her bodyguard.

However, their surprise was not on account of the employer/employee relationship, but rather because of Bishop's personality. He had always been a gruff man with a soldier-like exterior. He was never one to express his emotions, much less fall in love, in their opinion. Bishop had been many things in his lifetime: a police officer, a one-time war hero, a secret service agent -- but a fiancé? They couldn't imagine. Still… the idea wasn't _completely_ unbelievable.

"How…? When…?" asked Jean, in much the same state of shock as Rogue. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was unsure of where the relationship was going before. Now I am certain."

"An' how long have ya been seein' each othah?"

"Almost a year and a half."

"Ororo Munroe! A whole year an' a half an' ya didn' think ta let yoah best friends know?"

Jean was about to point out that Rogue had done the exact same thing with regards to her relationship with Remy, when Rachel ventured out onto the balcony.

"Mama, eat," she demanded, pointing to her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

Jean bent slightly to pick up her daughter and deposited her onto her lap. "Are you hungry now, sweetie?" She cut a small piece of meat and speared it with a fork. Eagerly, Rachel leaned forward to capture the morsel with her mouth.

Amused, Ororo watched as Rachel quickly finished her food and then demanded more from her mother. "I cannot believe how much she has grow. It has not been that long since I last saw her, but I thought for sure she would have forgotten me by now."

Jean looked up from her task. "Honestly, 'Ro, she probably would have if she hadn't been going through all our old photographs together." She kissed the top of Rachel's head lovingly. "She looks through them like they were one of her picture books." Looking down at the toddler, she smiled and asked, "Honey, where's Auntie 'Ro?"

Rachel obediently pointed to Ororo.

"Where's Auntie Dixie?"

A small finger was raised in Rogue's direction.

"Where's Daddy?"

At this, she looked around thoroughly. When she was unable to locate her father, she shrugged her little shoulders and lifted her palms upward. "Dada no more."

The carefree indifference that accompanied her statement was simply adorable, and all three women broke out into smiles.

"This one's gonna be a charmer, that's fo' sure," declared Rogue. "Jus' like her momma."

"And how is motherhood coming along, Jean?"

"I'll admit Rach is a handful. Nanny Jane and I have to watch her constantly because she's always getting herself into something, especially now that she can walk." She feed Rachel another piece of food. "But she's amazing. A little miracle."

Ororo and Rogue took in the blissful expression on Jean's face and exchanged a knowing look. Both of them were glad that Jean was so happy with her life. At the time of their breakup, they had been skeptical about how happy Jean would be being a full-time mother. After all, the spitfire redhead was well known for being a workaholic; always busy looking for the next project to undertake.

"What about you, Rogue?" Ororo teased. "When will you stop working so hard and commit to a serious relationship?"

"Oh, yoah one ta talk 'bout workin' hard, sugah!"

"I wouldn't worry about her, 'Ro," Jean interjected. "Our little Dixie's finally grown up." She winked discretely at her from across the table.

Ororo's eyebrow rose at the gesture, reading between the lines of Jean's message. "Is that so? And who may I ask is this gentleman?"

"A Mr. Remy LeBeau. Have you heard of him, Ororo?" Jean asked, pretending that Remy was no less famous than the next person walking down the street.

Ororo's forehead crinkled in concentration. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting his acquaintance. What exactly is his line of work?" Beside her, Rogue was silently watching the exchange, a blank expression on her face.

"I'm not quite sure," answered Jean. "He's involved in our former business, if I'm not mistaken."

"All right, all right," Rogue put in, breaking her silence and accepting her friends' teasing good-naturedly. "Y'all done now?"

Ororo reached across the table and squeezed the younger woman's hand. "I am happy for you, my friend." She straightened and added, "Remy is a charming man."

Now it was Rogue's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Ya've met him?"

"A few times, over the years. We occasionally run into one another at a club and talk. He has never mentioned you, though."

"We weren't tellin' anyone. Ah guess he figured Ah'd wanna tell ya mahself."

"Ku!" Rachel exclaimed, sliding down from Jean's lap and rushing through the balcony doors, only to appear a few moments later in the arms of Kurt Wagner.

"Hello, Ororo," he greeted, smiling warmly. "It has been a long time."

"Yes, it has, Kurt. How are you? Still working for your troublemaker of a sister, I see."

"Hey!" Rogue protested lightly.

"Unfortunately, yes. What can I say; it's a family business. What with one mother her manager, another her publicist; of course, her handsome older brother would still handle the responsibilities of being her road manager."

"I would've thought you'd jump ship like Ororo and I did when Midnight disbanded," commented Jean.

"If only I had the foresight that you two lovely ladies had." He smiled at his sister. "There's a phone call for you on your cell, _liebling."_

As Rogue excused herself and made her way into the suite, Kurt turned his attention back to Rachel, who had been transfixed by the honey-colored eyes he had inherited from Raven.

"And what do you say, Madame, at an afternoon with your Uncle Kurt while your mommy and aunts spend an obscene amount of money shopping?" He gently tickled her stomach to which she giggled and defensively pushed his hand away.

Inside the hotel room, Rogue smiled at the sound of Rachel's laughter as she accepted the cell phone from Karen.

"Hello?" Her greeting was met by static and then silence. "Hello?" Still nothing. She was about to hang up.

"_Chère?"_

_Remy,_ she thought. Aloud she said, "Sugah, Ah can barely hear you."

"… where are ya…"

"What?"

The line cleared for a minute. "Where are ya, _petite?"_

"In Paris. With 'Ro an' Jean." She grinned. "What's th' matter, Cajun? Miss me?"

"Always, _chère,_ always." He paused. In that moment, the static returned to the line. "… need t'talk t'ya…"

"Sugah, Ah can't hear ya that well. Th' line's bad."

"… tell ya…"

The sound of the static grew louder, successfully drowning out Remy's voice and any hopes of a decent conversation.

"Sugah, Ah really can't -- " The line went dead. "Aw, hell," she muttered, checking the battery indicator on the cell's screen. It was halfway full, more than enough to power a long-distance phone call. It must have been the phone itself; it had been acting up the last couple of weeks since she had dropped it on the floor.

"Karen," she said to her assistant. "Remind me ta have mah cell fixed when we get a chance."

"Did you get cut off?" At the other woman's nod, Karen continued, "Why don't you use mine?" She fished into her pocket and handed the phone to her boss.

"Thanks, sugah," Rogue said gratefully, punching in the appropriate numbers. But before she could hit the 'Send' button, Jean grabbed the cell away from her.

"Oh, no you don't, Dixie," she scolded, handing the device back to Karen. "You can talk to lover boy _after_ our shopping excursion. God knows we've waited long enough, and if you get on that phone with Remy now, I'm willing to bet we'll never be able to get you off." She started pushing her friend toward the door. "Come on, ladies, let's get this show on the road!"

Rogue laughed and let herself be manipulated out the door. "Now that sounds like a battle cry if evah Ah heard one. Are we packin'?"

"Charge cards all accounted for and set on maximum credit limit."

Joining them in the corridor, Ororo declared, "You two are insane."

"That's th' beauty o' it, sugah. Insane, beautiful an' on a mission ta shop 'til we drop!" Linking arms with her two best friends, Rogue led them the short distance to the elevators.

- oOo -

"_Chère?"_ The line was dead. "Damn," he muttered, cursing all forms of 'technological advancements' that promised more convenience to the consumer, but in reality provided them with even more of a headache.

For the past two weeks since being served the legal documents, he had been trying to contact Rogue every few days without success. For the most part, he received a busy tone from her number; other times, a voice-recorded message informed him that 'the subscriber could not be reached.' He had tried contacting her at the various hotels he knew she would be staying at during her European tour, but his timing was always off. Today was the first time he'd actually gotten through, but it would be just his luck to have been cut off before he could tell her everything he was supposed to tell her.

Not willing to give up, he dialed the number to her current hotel, providing the front desk clerk with the alias he knew she would be using this time around. A few moments later, he was being connected to her room.

"Yes?"

"Kurt? Dat you, _homme?"_ Remy asked, recognizing Rogue's brother immediately. "C'n I talk t'ya sister, please?"

"I'm sorry, _mein freund,_ but she is not here. She took the afternoon off and left to go shopping with Jean and Ororo a short while ago."

Yeah, that'd be just his luck. "When she gets in, could ya have her call me? It's important."

"Of course."

"_Merci, mon ami."_

He hung up the phone and closed his eyes, this time cursing fate and its penchant for giving him a hard time. Nothing in his life ever came easy and it didn't look as if this little hurdle was going to prove any different.

"Damn."

- oOo -

"Well, you guys certainly had fun," Karen observed as the trio returned hours later. The three bodyguards who trailed behind them were heavily burdened with shopping bags and a few boxes. "Did you leave anything for the other shoppers?"

"Prob'ly not," replied Rogue, dumping the bags in her own hand onto the sofa. She nodded her head toward Ororo. "'Ro there can whip out her credit cards faster than most men o' th' wild west, Ah have ta say. Good luck with that, Bish," she said, earning her the slightest of smiles from the man, much to her surprise.

"So says the woman who bought five pairs of shoes in one afternoon." Ororo turned on the television set before gracefully settling herself into an armchair, resting her feet upon the matching ottoman. Idly, she flipped to an international news channel.

"In mah own defense," Rogue rummaged through the bags, searching for certain items, "not all o' those shoes were fo' me."

"You really didn't have to buy Rachel anything, Dixie," Jean stated, sitting down on the couch in front of the TV with Ororo. "She has more stuff than any normal kid should have as it is."

"Please an' a half, Jeannie! What's th' use o' havin' godmothers if they don' spoil ya rotten?" She pulled out a small pair of pretty, white sandals and a stuffed Big Bird doll. "Karen, where's Rach?"

"She's in her room with Kurt."

Rogue disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms.

Jean turned to Ororo. "You bought things for her, too, didn't you?"

The other woman smiled at her. "You had doubts, my friend?"

"You two _are_ going to spoil her rotten."

"Only for the rest of her life," answered Ororo as a news reporter appeared on the screen.

"This just in," he announced, glancing at a piece of paper that was handed to him. "The New York City Police Department has received a lead on the whereabouts of escaped mental patient, David Haller. A reliable source provided authorities with information that Haller has _not_ left the city and is somewhere within the limits of New York. Haller is wanted in connection with a series of recent rape/murder cases. If you have any further information regarding this man," a picture flashed across the screen, "please contact the New York Police Department. You should not attempt to approach him yourselves, as he is considered armed and extremely dangerous."

"I hope they catch that guy soon," Jean commented as the news program went on commercial break. "I hate the thought of some psycho running around loose back home."

"He has been wanted for some time?" asked Ororo.

"I think so. They say he stalks his victims for a number of months before he murders them. And he's already killed four women."

"That is vile."

Rogue emerged from the other room with Rachel in her arms, sporting new sandals and cuddling her new doll to her chest.

"Mama," she called, waving the doll at her mother. "Bird!"

Jean turned to her daughter and smiled. "That's nice, baby. Did Auntie Dixie get you a new toy?"

The toddler nodded vigorously as her godmother tickled her stomach lightly. Rogue then reached down and picked up the telephone receiver.

"Calling out for pizza, Dix?" Jean teased, a twinkle in her eye.

Rogue grinned, dialing. "Kurt said that Remy called again. Ah'm jus' gonna see what's up."

"And you accuse me of not being able to stay away from Scott for too long?"

The news broadcast on the television continued, preventing Rogue from making any further comment.

"In the entertainment news: a paternity suit is being filed against musician, Remy LeBeau. A young woman from Los Angeles, California, Genevieve Darceneaux, is claiming that LeBeau is the father of her unborn child. Representatives from LeBeau's camp refused to comment on the allegations. A court date has not been set at this time.

"LeBeau is also rumored to be dating fellow musician, Rogue. One source says the couple has been secretly seeing each other for the past year. LeBeau is currently wrapping up his North American tour in support of his latest release, 'Infrequency.'"

The news report had stopped Rogue in mid-dial. The blood drained from her face and her arms suddenly felt like spaghetti. Slowly, carefully, she returned the phone to its cradle and handed Rachel to her mother. She felt light-headed, almost dizzy. She gripped the back of the sofa for support.

Ororo was instantly by her side. "Are you all right, my friend?" she asked, gently grasping her arm.

"Ah… Ah…" There were so many thoughts running through her head that she couldn't make sense of them all. "Ah don' know," she admitted.

"Is there anything we can do, Dixie?" Jean asked, appearing at her other side. "Do you want to talk about it? I could call room service and get some tea sent up."

Rogue shook her head, pulling herself away from the couch. "No. Ah… Ah think Ah jus' need ta be alone fo' awhile. Ta think."

"Are you sure?"

Rogue nodded as she made her way into her bedroom and shut the door. She leaned back against the cool wood for a moment and closed her eyes, trying to push away the gnawing sensation in her gut.

Outside the room, Jean looked to Ororo. "Poor Dixie. This is terrible." She reached for the remote to turn the television off. "I knew I had a bad feeling about that guy."

"We cannot jump to conclusions, Jean," Ororo reasoned. "The charges may not be true."

"You're right. But you have to admit, it's not unlikely. The man has built quite the reputation for being a celebrity playboy. Well, you've met him, 'Ro. What was your impression of him?"

"He was quite charming."

"Was he flirting with a lot of women?"

Ororo thought for a moment, recalling the times she had bumped into Remy at various clubs around the world. He was certainly flirtatious, there was no doubt about that, romancing most of the women in the vicinity.

"Yes."

"Do you think he's the type of man that could jump from woman to woman?"

That was a question that Ororo didn't feel she was qualified to answer. She didn't know Remy all that well and therefore couldn't give a very accurate response.

"I am uncertain."

Jean sighed and looked toward the closed door of Rogue's bedroom. "I just don't want to see her get hurt. Not again."

"Neither do I, my friend. Neither do I."

----

* Next up *  
Now that Rogue knows about the paternity suit, how does she feel about it? Will she stand by Remy? And what is he going to tell her?


	8. Swimming Through the Lies

**Disclaimer: **I've decided to raid Marvel's home offices in New York and steal all their characters. Who's with me? ... No one? C'MON! Don't tell me I got all dressed up for nothing! 

**A/N: **Are you all sick of me yet? Man, this story is really getting long. I never meant for it to have this many chapters. Somebody shoot me already and put me out of my misery! Thank you to the reviewers who fill me up with all the yummy words about each chapter. My nutritionist would like to have a word with all of you with regards to my diet. She thinks it's unhealthy for me to be going around with a big, stupid grin plastered on my face after each Review Day. Special thanks to the fellow writers who put up with me emailing them. Although they're not demented enough to stand up and be recognized, they know who they are. ; )   


**CHAPTER 8   
Swimming Through the Lies**

Paternity. 

One small word. Four tiny syllables. A whole truckload of complications. It had hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water. Like a ton of bricks. Like a knife to the heart. She didn't think there were enough metaphors for the complete unexpectedness of it all. 

Remy was being sued for paternity. For fathering another woman's child. Wasn't that the charge against him? She couldn't even wrap her brain around it. Remy -- _her_ Remy -- in the arms of another woman, doing things that he only did with her. 

She shot away from the support of the bedroom door and began a hard pace across the carpet. That was wrong, of course, believing that he had only done such things with her. She didn't believe it really; she _knew_ for a fact that it wasn't true. The man was twenty-four years old. He certainly had a past filled with old girlfriends, meaningless flings and a multitude of one-night stands. She _knew_ this. She'd accepted it. But that didn't mean she had to think about it. It didn't matter anyway. The past was past, and she was the present. Old ghosts couldn't come back to haunt you. 

In the first two years that she had known Remy, she'd heard first-hand all the accounts of his 'conquests,' everyone from the latest girlfriend to the adoring groupies that had camped outside his hotel for two days. It had never bothered her back then because she was the friend, the buddy, the one to swap all the sordid details with. But now… 

Could it be that he missed that life? Did he miss being the suave, cool, _unattached_ bachelor who could pick up any woman he wanted to and have his wicked way with her? They had been together for a little over a year already. Had his seven-year itch come six years earlier than expected? 

She shook her head as if to rearrange her wayward thoughts. _He loves you,_ she told herself sternly. It was evident in the way he treated her, the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her. He was always showing her his love in one way or another. She remembered the last time they were together. Hadn't he gone to the trouble of filling her entire room with rose petals? And then the very next day, surprised her at dawn with a tantalizing bath? She had no reason to doubt his love. 

Her face fell suddenly. A memory floated into her mind, again of their last night together. Remy's abrupt change in mood, and then the desperate, almost fierce, way he had made love to her immediately afterwards. Had that been out of… guilt? Had lying in bed with her suddenly reminded him of lying in bed with… _her?_

She wondered who this woman was. What did she look like? Was she pretty? Beautiful? So stunning and alluring that Remy had no choice but to be enchanted by her? What did she give him that Rogue herself couldn't provide? Time? Attention? Love? 

She choked on her last thought, her heart painfully twisting in her chest. She stopped her pacing for a second as her vision momentarily darkened. Did he love this woman? As he claimed to love her? Did he surprise her with morning baths and sweet-smelling roses? Did he softly whisper professions of undying devotion into her ear while driving every nerve in her body insane with his touch? Rogue shut her eyes tightly as a wave of bitter cold washed over her and enveloped her body completely. 

She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe in him, but she wasn't sure. She didn't know what went on during the times they were apart, where or with whom he shared his nights. She knew what he told her -- she desperately wanted to _believe_ what he told her -- but she wasn't sure. And she couldn't be sure because there was no evidence to support or deny the things he said he did during his free time. For all she knew he could have spent every night with a different woman… or a multitude of women. She felt like vomiting as an image of Remy in a _ménage a trois_ pranced unwanted through her thoughts. She kicked angrily at the mattress, trying to purge the scene from her mind's eye. 

The point was that he could have been carrying on a number of relationships during their year together, and no one would have known. She knew the man was an impeccable liar. He could sit, straight-faced, through the most ludicrous of statements. Jean-Luc had taught his son well, training him to deal with clients in the family business. He could either dissuade or persuade a person with regards to an item's value, depending on whether he was trying to buy or sell that particular item. It was a useful skill in their line of work, one he sometimes used to manipulate the press. But she never thought he would use it on her, would lie to her. 

The news report had said 'unborn child,' a range of anywhere from one to nine months. They had been together for fourteen months now. If the allegations were true -- if Remy was indeed the father of this woman's child -- then he _had_ cheated on her. Screwed around behind her back. Lied to her. 

She sank to the floor, her knees no longer capable of supporting her. Her gaze was listless, unfocused, as she leaned against the side of the bed. Her track record with men was horrible, she realized. From Cody to Remy, to every bloody sap in between, she always seemed to get hurt. No matter how hard she tried to prevent it, it always ended up biting her in the backside. She'd thought Remy would be different… special. 

Despite the dull ache in the pit of her stomach, she smiled. She knew in her heart that Remy _was_ different; he _was_ special. There was something about him that set him apart from other men. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she knew it was there. The question was, would it be enough? Was this unnamable quality enough to overcome the cold hand that encircled her heart whenever she thought about him with another woman? She wasn't sure. She simply didn't know. And that not knowing scared her to no end. 

As if directed by some unseen force, she lifted herself off the floor and made her way to the bedside telephone. She felt numb. Like she was in a dream, detached, and in no way in control of her own actions. She lifted the receiver and dialed a familiar number. Her mind was void of any thoughts as she listened to the consistent ringing of the call being connected. She was almost startled when someone answered on the other end. 

"Allo?" 

It took her a few seconds to find her voice. "It's me." 

_"Chère?"_ He sounded surprised, and a little… nervous? 

---- 

~ Okay I'm taking a survey this time, who among you are having violent reactions or are entertaining thoughts of killing me for ending the chapter like this? *gasp!* We didn't even get to find out if she's gonna stay with Remy or not! Remember I'm taking count so get your vote in! Hit me upside the head with a sausage link? Drown me in a vat of boiling pickle juice? Be as graphic as you wanna be! ; ) 


	9. With or Against

**Disclaimer: **After nine chapters of this, the author would like to say that if you haven't gotten the main gist of it yet, commit yourself to your local asylum as soon as possible. Thank you.

**A/N: **Attention, people… YOU MUST READ! Hey, I see your eyes wandering down to the chapter; get your focus back up here and read this, pal!  
1) I found another tiny hole in the story again so I had to go back and change things a little. All right, put the billy clubs and the stun guns away! If you kill me now then I won't be able to finish the story! Okay, so it goes like this: in Chapter 3 when Remy calls Rogue from his tour bus, he's in _San Diego._ After that night's performance, he hops on the bus and then they travel up to L.A. where the hotel scene takes place. Everybody got it? If not, go back and reread.  
2) Also, I get a little technical on a number of topics in this chapter so I had to do some research on the Net -- which took up an entire afternoon, thank you very much! As far as I'm aware, all the information is true but I wouldn't say that with _absolute_ certainty. If there's something that isn't too clear, drop me an e-mail or let me know your addresses and I can try to explain it better. : )  
3) I really _hate_ it when my Author's Notes get too long because I know you guys just wanna get to the chapter, but I just can't let you go without offering some comments on _your_ comments. And who knows? You just might get a hint or two about where the story is going!

~ ilovetidus -- Yes, I _am_ evil. I'm glad someone noticed! : )

~ Jean1 -- You must be really annoyed with me by now! I know the whole how-did-that-girl-get-in-his-room ordeal has been bugging you since it happened in Chapter 3. But as readers, you're not _supposed_ to know... not yet, anyway. When will that little tidbit get disclosed? Who am I to say? (As the author, I have NO power whatsoever! It's my muse's fault, so y'all can blame him!) We could find out in this chapter. Or the next. Or the one after that. (I'm _really_ not being any help here, am I?)  
With regards to your other comment, convenience is relative and has always been subject to authors' manipulation. How many times have we seen movies where the characters have been in the right place at the right time? If you ask me, convenience is a writer's best friend. : ) And also, a lot of women have gotten pregnant from a one-night stand. It's possible, if the timing's right and she happens to be ovulating.  
Btw, I can't help but notice how incredibly perceptive you are when it comes to analyzing these fics. I've read your reviews on other stories and your comments are always so insightful.

~ chrissy -- Wicked! ; ) If I didn't love Remy so much I would have done that!

~ 4Rogue -- I noticed that part of Chapter 3 went missing, too! I have to admit, that was partly my fault. I get so annoyed when I come across typos or errors that I just HAVE to go back and fix them. Thanks for pointing that out!

~ Christy S., Angel Falls, 4Rogue -- You guys had some great ideas there!

~ missy42 -- Yes! You got it in one, girl! That's _exactly_ what Genevieve was doing; she was researching a book! And I predict it will hit the New York Times Best Sellers List when it finally comes out! I like the way you think, friend! ; ) (Incidentally, I counted 9 questions in your last review. One more and you could've hit the two-digit mark...)

* I was pleasantly surprised to see so many new names on the review board! It's always nice to hear what different people think about what's happening in the story. Thank you all SO much for the kind words -- and the death threats! : ) I'll get out of your hair now so you guys can read the chapter! Tell me what you think!

**CHAPTER 9  
With or Against**

Remy stood perfectly still, keeping his eyes centered on the world outside the window. He wasn't focusing on anything in particular. In fact, if someone were to ask him to describe the scene before him, he wouldn't be able to come up with a single word. His mind was far from the manicured gardens in back of his family's New Orleans home, and was somewhere in the vicinity of the worldwide scandal that he was in the middle of.

Scandals were common occurrences in the life of anyone who spent their time in front of the camera. Each step, each breath was carefully monitored and recorded. Any slipup -- even the smallest misstep -- was worthy of the front page. And Remy was no stranger to that particular 'honor.' He had been on and off the latest gossip columns since he first appeared onto the music scene some three years before. He was used to the intensive scrutiny. At times he even reveled in it. He smirked as he remembered the time a photographer had caught him sneaking out the back entrance of a nightclub with two particularly clinging women. Or the night he and ex-girlfriend, Michelle Hanburg, had been seen exiting the men's bathroom of a Chicago restaurant together; Michelle's appearance had been slightly less tidy than when she went in.

But this time was different. _This_ particular scandal was far worse. It had the potential to ruin his career, and at the same time affect Rogue's life as well. And he was, under no circumstances, willing to let that happen. He had to fight, just as he had done his entire life, to keep the things that mattered most to him. And God help anyone who tried to take those things away from him.

The soft, rhythmic clicking of heels against the marble floor caught his attention. He dragged his focus away from the window and his thoughts to slowly turn to his expected visitor.

- oOo -

It had been a rough journey home, if that were at all possible considering they had been aboard one of the company's private planes. But Rogue's mind had been alive with too much activity and too many thoughts since her conversation with Remy some two weeks before. She wasn't exactly sure how she had gotten through her schedule in France, then Italy and finally Spain, before boarding the plane to return home. It had all been a blur of appearances and performances that somehow zipped passed her without much notice.

The plane ride itself had been agonizing; six hours confined to one place with nothing to do but listen to the echoing of her own thoughts. They ran and re-ran themselves through her mind like an old television show on syndication. She would have driven herself insane if she didn't seek distraction in the form of playing with her goddaughter. Jean had decided to stay with the group for the extra week to 'allow Rachel to experience the beauty of Europe.' Everyone knew that was a lie; Jean was there to give Rogue her unwavering support, for which the young singer was eternally grateful.

Their first stop had been New York to drop off Jean and Rachel, and at the same time rendezvous briefly with Raven, before catching another flight to their next destination. As she watched her mother approach, Rogue saw the faint hint of shadows beneath her eyes. Obviously Raven had been following the media coverage and was not happy about it at all.

"That boy is causing you nothing but trouble, child," she said, keeping her voice low, as they swiftly made their way through the airport, toward the exit that would lead them onto the tarmac where a smaller private plane awaited. "Irene has been working herself into exhaustion fielding questions from the media. And this is only the beginning." She glanced at her daughter from the corner of her eye. "We may have to hold a press conference to issue some sort of statement."

Rogue was quiet but she nodded her head, acknowledging that she had heard.

"I don't like this, Rogue. I don't like this at all." She suddenly became aware of the people in the airport who had taken notice of their entourage and were watching them as they passed. Raven snapped her mouth shut, discontinuing her rant against Remy. It was a discussion she needed to have with her daughter, but one that was best conducted without prying eyes. She was glad for the somewhat 'fresh' air that greeted them upon exiting the building, even if it was tainted with the pungent smell of fuel and the thunderous roar of the planes' engines.

Once they were safely tucked inside their aircraft and the surrounding noise was reduced to a tolerable level, Raven reached into her portfolio and handed Rogue a small square of paper.

"I have some things to take care of in Los Angeles. That's the number of the hotel where I'll be staying. I want you to call me as soon as the plane touches down. Is that understood?"

Rogue grinned wryly at her tone of voice. "Yes, Momma, Ah got it." She slipped the paper into her coat pocket while the older woman shot Logan a stern look that seemed to say 'make sure that she does that.'

Raven turned back to Rogue and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Take care, darling."

"Bye, Momma." Rogue smiled as she watched Raven disembark. She called over her shoulder to Logan, "Sugah, Ah'm gonna take a li'l nap. Wake me up when we get there, please?"

"Sure thing, darlin'."

She repositioned herself on one of the plane's plush sofas, trying to get comfortable. Finally after several attempts, she dozed off into a light slumber.

Only seconds later it seemed, Logan was shaking her shoulder gently and urging her to waken. It wasn't long before the group had gathered their things and made the trek to the airport's exit. Soon they were weaving their way through the city streets en route to their lodgings for the next few days.

She didn't know the city all that well but she had been down there a number of times already so she recognized a few of the buildings and landmarks along the way. She realized they were nearing their destination when they turned down a familiar road where the estates were separated by vast parcels of land. The high, elaborately designed gates swung open to allow them passage and they traveled down the long driveway to temporarily park in front of the mansion's main entrance.

Once inside the large foyer, several members of the estate's staff greeted them warmly. The steward escorted the rest of the group up the stairs and into the guest bedrooms while the plump housekeeper ushered Rogue into the private parlor near the back of the house.

Her heels sounded lightly against the marble flooring as she entered the room. He stood with his back to her, looking out into the gardens outside the window, but slowly turned to face her as he heard her approach.

- oOo -

He stared at her from across the room, his deep brown eyes meeting her emerald green. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, lost in the jumble of things left unsaid, both of them unsure of what their first move should be. He noticed the blank expression on her face and wondered at its meaning. She was usually such an easy person to read, her emotions shown plainly on her face. But for the life of him, he couldn't pick up on what she was thinking at that moment.

Then, as if in slow motion, he saw her move from her spot in the doorway, and all his uncertainty and fears melted away once his arms had encircled her in their tight embrace. She rested her head against his chest, sweetly sighing his name, and he nearly laughed out loud at the doubts that had clouded his thoughts only seconds before. He knew he shouldn't have worried.

When she had called him back a few weeks ago, he had immediately started the conversation with three simple words: "It's not true." He waited with a pounding heart and a knot in his throat as silence meet his declaration. It seemed to take an eternity before she finally let out her expectant breath and said, "Ah believe you."

He'd also let himself breathe normally after her statement and then directly launched into an explanation of the events. However, she abruptly cut him off.

"Not ovah th' phone, sugah," she'd said. "Ya never know who could be listenin'." He heard the gentle squeal of bedsprings as she settled herself onto the bed. "Where are ya now?"

"Home," he replied simply.

"All right, Ah'll head down there as soon as we get back ta th' States."

Most people had the impression that by 'home' Remy meant New York City. While it was his residence for the majority of the year, it had never really felt like home to him. Rogue knew that his heart would always remain in the city of New Orleans and that there was no other place in the world where he felt as safe as he did there; the only exception being when he was wrapped up in the warmth of her arms.

He took comfort in those arms now, snugly curled around his waist. He marveled at her belief in him, her loyalty to him, and her acceptance of his proclamation of innocence, without needing a shred of evidence.

For Rogue's part, she was finally able to identify that unnamable quality that set Remy apart from other men. It wasn't so much a quality but more of a feeling she got from him. When she first heard the news about the paternity case, her mind's initial reaction had been to prepare for the worst, to defend herself against the possible things to come. It wasn't until some time after that she realized what her mind was imagining and what her heart was feeling didn't match up. Her mind was producing very possible thoughts of Remy in the arms of another woman, or having numerous affairs with several women. But her heart was flat out saying it wasn't possible, that it trusted him and his love for her; that there was a intense connection between them that she had never experienced with anyone before. In the end, all it took was hearing his voice deny the allegations to convince her of his innocence.

She raised her head to look up at him. "How're ya doin', sugah?"

"Much better… now." He kissed the top of her head. "Ya tired, _chère?_ Ya wan' go upstairs an' rest up from ya trip b'fore we talk?"

She shook her head and disentangled herself from his embrace, only to establish an even tighter one once they were resettled on the sofa. She was content there, her arms around her lover and her legs tucked neatly underneath her. She could hear the easy thumping of his heart beneath her ear, and could feel her own responding to its rhythm. She sighed softly before breaking the spell.

"Momma thinks it's time Ah gave a statement ta th' press."

His hand came down to begin a light stroking motion along the length of her spine. She smiled slightly at the sensations it was producing.

"What're ya gon' tell dem?"

"'Bout us. Lord knows ev'ryone's been talkin' 'bout it fo' months now. Might as well confirm what they've already decided is true."

Remy nodded before saying, "Dey're gon' t'ink o' ya as de poor, cheated-on girlfriend whose lover knocked up another woman."

"What they think is their business. What Ah _know_ is mine."

And there it was again: her belief in him, her confidence in his word. She hadn't even asked about the circumstances surrounding the case, and he suddenly realized that she wouldn't. She was leaving the decision on whether or not to tell her solely up to him. Either way, she would still support him.

He took a deep breath before beginning. "_Chère,_ ya 'member dat day a couple months ago when I called ya from San Diego?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, after de show we spent de night on de road goin' up t'L.A." His eyes took on a faraway look as if he was reliving the memory in his mind. "De boys an' I did a li'l drinkin', an' I guess I was a li'l tired from de show. Henri was on m'case 'bout takin' it easy f'r weeks b'fore dat.

"When I got t' m'room in de hotel, dere was a woman already dere." He felt her body stiffen slightly. "At first, I t'ought it was you, _chère,_ but m'eyes were jus' playin' tricks on me an' I realized dat it was someone else."

"What'd ya do?"

He almost grinned at the somewhat fearful tone in her voice. "Took her by de arm an' brought her outta de room. Told de boys t'get her out o' dere." His eyebrows furrowed in concentration a bit. "But I t'ink it wasn' as polite as dat, considerin' I wasn' feelin' too good at de time."

Rogue sat up to face him. "An' that's it? That's all that happened?" She couldn't help but think it was all too simple, judging by the frenzy the media was making out of it. "She up an' left, jus' like that?"

"_Non, mignonne._ It took 'bout a good t'irty minutes t'convince her dat what she wan'ed wasn' gon' happ'n. After dat, she picked up her clothes an' walked out de door, wit' Vic escortin' her all de way down."

She stared at him for a few moments before lowering her head back against his chest, trusting what he told her. He didn't mention the fact that he didn't really feel quite like himself that night. Or that he'd only had a couple of beers on the bus ride over. Nor did he bring up the question of how Genevieve got into the room in the first place.

As if reading his mind, she shot back up and looked him straight in the eye. "Wait a minute, Remy. How'd this girl get past th' boys? Don' they always secure th' room before ya come up?"

He sighed. "_Oui,_ dey do." He refocused his attention to the lock of auburn hair he took between his fingers. "We asked her 'bout dat an' she said she came t'rough de balcony. Didn' t'ink it was possible f'r a girl dat petite, but de lock on de balcony door was picked an' de hotel records showed she booked de suite a couple doors down."

Remy could feel her skeptical gaze on him. He knew she didn't believe that a young girl could climb across two balconies, twenty stories up any more than he could. He raised his eyes to hers and was about to comment on her unspoken question when a polite cough emanated from the doorway.

Rogue turned to see a tall, blonde man wearing a deep blue business suit and dark glasses standing in the doorway. As he ventured further into the room, he lightly tapped a cane in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Remy, I didn't know you had company," he said, stopping a few feet from the couch. "I can come back if this is a bad time."

"_Non, mon ami,"_ Remy replied, covering the distance that separated them and reaching out to shake the other man's hand. "S'okay. Wan' ya t'meet someone." He turned back to Rogue. "_Chère,_ dis is m'lawyer, Matthew Murdock. Matt, dis is _mon amour,_ Rogue."

She took his hand and said warmly, "It's nice ta meet ya, sugah."

"Likewise." He smiled. "Remy's told me a lot about you."

"Is that right?" She playfully cocked an eyebrow in Remy's direction. "You an' Ah are gonna havta have ourselves a li'l chat sometime, Matt."

She could have sworn she saw him wink behind the dark lenses shielding his eyes. "Part of lawyer/client privilege, I'm afraid. I wouldn't be able to tell you much."

They repositioned themselves back into their seats, with Matt taking a spot across from the couple.

"So, Remy," the lawyer began, setting his leather briefcase onto the coffee table before him, "you wanted an update on the case?"

"Actu'lly, _homme,_ was wonderin' if ya could 'splain de entire t'ing again… f'r Rogue."

"Certainly." Matt extracted several documents and ran his hands over them lightly as Rogue settled herself back into the sofa to listen.

"As I'm sure you're already aware of, Remy is being sued for paternity of Ms. Genevieve Darceneaux's unborn child. Now, if the charge is found to be true, Remy will be declared the legal father and be made to pay child support until the child's eighteenth birthday."

Rogue was about to protest the charge when Remy held up his hand to stop her, silently asking her to let Matt finish.

"In order to verify the claim that Remy _is_ the father," Matt continued, "the prosecuting attorney has arranged a non-invasive paternity test. What that means is they'll take a sample of Ms. Darceneaux's blood to test the baby's DNA."

"Ah don' understand," Rogue interrupted, her curiosity getting the better of her as she ignored the frown that appeared on Remy's face. "Why bother goin' ta th' mother? Why not go straight ta th' baby's blood an' compare it ta Remy's? Aftah all, nobody's questionin' who th' momma is."

"In earlier procedures, they would have extracted samples from the placenta or the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. But those methods put the child at risk for birth defects or complications during delivery. The non-invasive technique is newer technology that offers the same results, without the medical risks to the fetus.

"As to the reason why they extract the _mother's_ blood, research shows that certain fetal cells are present in maternal circulation throughout pregnancy. They can take a sample from the mother's bloodstream and then _separate_ the baby's cells from the mother's cells, thereby identifying paternity."

"Ya lost me there, sugah. How 'sactly do they tell who th' daddy is?"

"It does get a little confusing after a while," Matt said, sympathetically. "Every child receives a set of genes from each parent, one from the mother and one from the father. Once the baby's cells are extracted from the mother, they can be compared to the her DNA. Anything that doesn't match _must_ be a pattern from the father. A blood sample from any man thought to be the paternal parent will put all questions to rest."

"So they're basically gonna shift through th' baby's genes an' see which ones came from its momma an' which ones from its daddy?" She waited for Matt's confirming nod before asking, "And these tests are accurate?"

"Extremely. They guarantee either a zero-percent exclusivity or a ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine-percent proof of paternity."

At the confused look on Rogue's face, Remy said, "Dat means 'm either _not_ de father wit' one-hundred-percent certainty, or I am de father wit' a point-zero-one chance dey screwed up de tests, which is very slim."

Matt consulted his notes once again before stating, "Since the earliest they can perform the procedure is twelve weeks from conception, and Ms. Darceneaux is only eleven weeks along, they won't be able to extract a sample until next week. They will of course require a ten-milliliter sample of your blood, Remy, for comparison. I'm told that the results will be ready within seven to ten business days from the date the samples are received by the laboratory. That's a span from anywhere between the middle of next, next week to the beginning of the week after that."

"Mr. Murdock," Rogue began, leaning forward in her seat, "Ah 'ppreciate th' explanation an' all, but Ah don' see how this is relevant ta Remy. He didn' sleep with th' girl. How could he have possibly gotten her pregnant?"

"That's exactly why we've agreed to let them perform the procedure, because we're positive that he _isn't_ the father. And please call me Matt," he said as an afterthought.

"Tell her 'bout de other t'ing."

Rogue looked from Remy to Matt uncertainly. "What othah thing?"

Matt retrieved a new set of documents from his briefcase. "There's another charge that's being investigated in connection with the initial accusation."

"Ah haven't heard anythin' but th' paternity case on th' news."

"It's still under investigation, _chère._ Dey're tryin' t'keep it quiet 'til dey c'n get somet'in' concrete on me."

"They're preparing for the possibility that the paternity test will come back negative," added Matt. "Even if Remy isn't the father of the baby, the prosecution will _still_ try to prove that he slept with Ms. Darceneaux. The second charge is what is termed in Californian law as 'Unlawful Sexual Intercourse,' or what is more commonly referred to as statutory rape."

"Statutory rape?" Rogue repeated. "Havin' sex with a minor?" She waited for Matt's nod before asking, "How old is she?"

"Apparently she's seventeen, a year shy of California's age of consent." The attorney set his notes aside before leaning forward and creating a steeple out of his hands. "As Remy mentioned, they're only in the investigation stage, which means they'll be looking for just enough to show probable cause, proof that the crime more than likely occurred."

"Which they won't find 'cause nothin' happened."

"That may be so, Rogue, but more than likely their angle will be that something _did_ happen and that Remy used both his money and his influence as a celebrity to cover up his tracks."

"They're gonna lie?"

"They're going to look at all possible scenarios and present the most probable to have happened in accordance with their case," Matt corrected, readjusting his dark glasses which had been sliding down his nose slightly. "Now in this particular case, Remy's fame works both for and against us. It's to our advantage because investigators will tread lightly, careful not to ruffle the public's feathers by wrongly accusing him of a crime. But at the same time, it will hurt us because the California judicial system will want to make an example of him."

"Ah don' understand," Rogue said for the second time that day. "Why would they want ta make an example outta Remy?"

Matt shifted into a more comfortable position. "I'll be honest with you. Trials for statutory rape are rare. The main reason for this is that in order to be brought before a court of law, proof beyond a reasonable doubt that the crime was committed must be present; something concrete and solid that they can use to say that sexual intercourse did in fact occur between the accused and the minor. More often than not, this is only possible when pregnancy is involved, and the baby itself is used as evidence of the intimate relationship. In lawsuits that lack such obvious proof, prosecuting attorneys often have a difficult time building decent cases when their key witnesses are young, teenaged 'victims' who refuse to testify against their adult 'lovers.'

"However, the governor of California has strong feelings toward protecting the youth in his state. He was recently successful in imposing stricter laws to punish pedophiles and other sex offenders. Not only that, but he has more than a few judge-friends who feel the same way he does when it comes to crimes committed against minors. With someone like Remy, who is constantly in the public eye, they stand a good chance of showing other would-be offenders that no one is beyond the reach of the law."

Matt's business-like demeanor waned slightly as he leaned back in his seat. "I'm not trying to scare you with all this legal talk about trails and such. I'm simply preparing you for the things we're most likely going to encounter in this case. As you pointed out before, Remy is innocent of these charges, so we really have nothing to worry about."

For some reason, Rogue wasn't appeased. There was something in the corner of her mind that prompted her to ask, "Hypothetic'lly speakin', if Remy _were_ charged with these crimes, what would th' sentence be?"

"Well in California, civil penalties for statutory rape range anywhere from two-thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars, depending on the age gap between the minor and the adult in question. Along with restitution, counseling, therapy or any other treatment services that may be ordered, and possible or mandatory jail time of up to a year."

Rogue nodded and reached over to clasp Remy's hand in her own, both to reassure him and herself that he would never have to face that particular sentence.

"As I said before," continued Matt, "prosecuting attorneys rarely bring statutory rape cases to trial because it's difficult to gather the necessary evidence. But _if_ this case were brought to court -- and please bear in mind, that's a big, if not nonexistent, 'if' -- on account of Remy being the father of this baby, then we would be looking at child support, as well as a minimum prison sentence of five years. And that's in addition to the penalties I mentioned earlier." He returned all his documents to his briefcase. "Although I'm not too familiar with the music world, I'd imagine that such a sentencing would create a backlash for your career, Remy."

The Cajun singer grinned wryly. "No kiddin', _mon ami."_

His lawyer returned his expression with a genuine smile of his own. "There's nothing we have to be concerned about, really. Once the paternity test proves that you did not father Ms. Darceneaux's child, the only thing we have to deal with is the statutory rape investigation, which is shaky at best."

"So we're okay?" Rogue asked uncertainly.

"We're okay," confirmed Matt. "Do you have any more questions? Did I explain everything clearly?"

"Yes, sugah. Thank you."

At this, the lawyer stood, extending his hand to his client. "It was good seeing you again, Remy. My goddaughter was ecstatic when I surprised her with the autographed CD." He turned to Rogue. "And it was a pleasure meeting you, Rogue," he stated, shaking her hand. "I hope we can meet again, under more pleasant circumstances."

"Ah hope we can too, Matt." She watched as he exited the room before slowly wandering over to the windows that overlooked the gardens outside.

"You okay, _chère?"_ Remy asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She leaned back against his sturdy frame, taking comfort in his nearness. "Ev'rythin's gettin' more an' more complicated, Remy."

"I know, _belle."_ He sighed as he rested his chin against her temple. "But ya heard what Matt said, it's gon' be okay. Not'in' t'worry 'bout." His lips brushed over her skin lightly. "Dey don' have anyt'in' on me."

She echoed his sigh, wishing she had his confidence that everything would turn out fine, but she simply couldn't find it within herself. The thought of _anything_ taking Remy away from her brought a nauseating feeling to her body.

Forcing the thoughts from the forefront of her mind, she tried to focus on other things. Like the fact that this was the first time they'd been in the same room together in two and a half months.

She slyly slid her hand down his arm and then entwined his fingers with her own. "That's a shame, sugah," she teased. "Ah was kinda hopin' they'd save me th' trouble o' gettin' rid o' ya mahself."

"_Mignonne,_ ya wouldn' get rid o' me if given de chance." Lowering his head, he let the warmth of his breath tickle her ear.

"You sound mighty sure o' yoahself, Cajun."

"Mmm-hmm." He nipped at her earlobe with his teeth and grinned at the slight tremor he felt cascade through her body. "Mighty sure."

"Fo' yoah information, suh, Ah'm more than capable o' resistin' yoah charmin' self." Though her statement had started off as a declaration, it soon became nothing more than a low whisper as the back of Remy's hand leisurely traveled down the side of her body to ultimately rest on the curve of her hip.

"_Non, mon chérie,"_ he murmured huskily. "Ya no more capable o' resistin' me dan I am o' resistin' you." His fingertips caressed the line of her jaw before gently drawing her face toward his. "Not dat I'd wan' t'." To prove his point, he lowered his head to receive her kiss.

If she hadn't been so preoccupied, Rogue would have smiled. She wondered if all women in love felt as glorious as she did whenever she was in her lover's arms. It was like being sprinkled with Tinkerbelle's pixie dust and discovering that you could fly. Or walking through a star gate and entering a world where everything you never imagined existed. Whatever it was, she quickly decided that there had never been a time in her life when she felt so deliciously warm inside, so filled and so loved.

The quaint time-stopping moment would have no doubt lasted much, much longer had it not been for the loud clearing of someone's throat reverberating from the doorway.

An irritated groan rumbled up from Remy's chest as he broke their kiss, though he made no attempt to open his eyes nor remove himself from Rogue's side.

"Wit' a house dis big," he began, "ya'd t'ink people would find enough space t'be somewhere else."

"Then get a room with a decent lock on the door," countered Logan, taking a few more steps into the parlor. "Prefer'bly upstairs where we can't hear ya."

"Logan!" Rogue chastened. She had to peer around Remy's tall frame so that her bodyguard could take proper note of the icy glare in her eyes.

The stare proved useless against the older man as he chewed on the end of an unlit cigar. "Put the snow show away, kid, ya know that stuff doesn't work on me." He cocked his head toward one of the mansion's numerous telephone extensions. "Did ya call yer mother yet?"

Remy smirked. "Ya de bodyguard, _homme,_ or de nanny?"

"Yer lucky we're in yer house, Gumbo, else I'd slug ya in the gut."

"Good luck tryin' dat one, old -- "

"All right," Rogue interrupted, shaking her head at their sham of a testosterone fit. "Ah don' think Ah'm prepared fo' th' headache that this is gonna be." She turned her attention to Logan. "No, Ah haven't talked ta Momma yet. Would ya call her fo' me?"

He grunted. "She's gonna be pissed that you didn't call her an hour ago when we got here," he told her. "Where'd ya put that number?"

"In mah coat pocket," she answered, watching him scan the room for the said item. "Ask Bèbette; she took it from me earlier jus' before showin' me in here."

Logan nodded and exited the room, leaving the couple alone once again.

"So, _chère,_ what do ya t'ink o' Logan's suggestion?" Remy asked, raising an eyebrow. "Care t'find a room upstairs wit' a decent lock on it?"

She smiled as she walked back into his embrace. "You love rilin' Logan up, don' ya?"

"Not'in' I live f'r more, _petite."_

"Not even this?" she challenged, moving slowly to kiss the very corner of his mouth. "Or this?" She drew her lips across his jaw line. "Or even this?" her voice whispered next to his ear. Abruptly, she moved out of his reach and turned to walk away from him. "Well, since there's nothin' else ya live fo', sugah."

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her back up against his chest. "Play nice, _chère."_

"Ah thought Ah was," she laughed as Remy's mouth recaptured her own.

"ROGUE!" Logan bellowed, reentering the parlor.

The young singer jumped two feet in the air before facing the head of her security team. "Logan, fo' cryin' out loud! Yoah gonna give me a heart atta-- "

"What the _hell_ is this?!" he demanded, gesturing at the paper in his hand.

"A piece o' paper?" she retorted sassily, joining him in the middle of the room. She was annoyed at the tone of voice he was using with her.

"Don't get smart with me, girl," he warned. "Why didn't ya tell me 'bout this?!"

"Maybe Ah would've if Ah knew what you were talkin'…" her face paled as she recognized the item in Logan's hand, "…about." It was a letter. More specifically, it was the second letter her stalker had left for her. "Where… where did ya get that?"

"In yer coat pocket, while I was lookin' fer the number o' Raven's hotel."

"Ya weren't s'pposed ta find that…"

"Then maybe ya should've cleaned yer pockets out more often, darlin'," he snapped. "What were ya thinkin'?!"

"What is dat t'ing?" questioned Remy, walking over from his place by the windows.

Rogue panicked. "No!" she cried, reaching for the letter in Logan's grasp; he easily snatched it away from her. He didn't resist, however, when Remy took it from him.

"Have ya got no sense at all, Rogue?" Logan continued ranting at her. "How could ya keep this from all o' us? When did ya get this one?"

But she wasn't listening; her focus was locked onto Remy's face as he read the short note. She caught the initial coolness of his expression, then the slight widening of his eyes, and finally the angry glint that ignited when he was finished. She wanted to take a step back, away from him, but didn't dare. There was a calmness about him -- a _controlled_ calmness -- that scared her, as if he were reining in his emotions.

"What is dis?" he asked quietly, though the fury was evident in his eyes.

It was the quietness of his voice, plus the calmness of his demeanor that finally made her step away. As a child, she had seen more than her fair share of this quiet rage, this silent wrath that boiled just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest pin-drop to fall. It was usually how her father's abusive attacks began -- a placid question as to why there were no potatoes in the stew, or how come the television's remote control was on top of the coffee table instead of on the cushion of his favorite chair -- followed immediately by the physical beatings to 'correct' her ignorant ways. A part of her was crying out that it was _just_ Remy, and that she had nothing to be afraid of. But she couldn't quiet the fears of the eight-year-old child echoing within her. In the back of her mind, she briefly wondered what happened to the wildcat spirit that had defended the little girl in Memphis only a month before.

"What is dis?" Remy repeated, his voice straining to keep a steady pitch. When she still didn't answer him, he turned to Logan. "Is dis some kind o' sick joke?"

The older man shook his head. "It's another letter from some demented bastard with a death wish."

Remy's head snapped up. "'Another'? Dis isn' de first time she's gotten one?"

"No. He sent the last one up ta the house almost three months ago, along with a necklace fer her. That makes this one here number two." Logan raised an eyebrow at Rogue. "'Less yer hidin' some other stuff from us?"

All she could do was shake her head silently.

Remy took an unstable breath, struggling to get his next words out in an even tone. "What're de police doin' 'bout it?"

"Nothin'," Logan answered. "They don' know anythin' about it."

"WHAT DE HELL -- ?!" Remy finally exploded, turning his back on the other two occupants of the room. He didn't notice how his sudden outburst startled Rogue into jumping back a good two feet.

He rounded on them again. "Dis psycho's been out dere 'watchin'' her f'r three months an' ya didn' t'ink it'd be a good idea t'get de police involved?! Jus' gon' sit 'round an' do not'in' while he threatens her like dis?! _WHAT WERE YA T'INKIN', CHÈRE?!"_ he roared, one decibel short of shattering the windowpanes. He didn't wait for a response as he confronted Logan. "An' YOU, _m'sieu,_ why aren' you doin' somet'in' 'bout dis?! Don' seem like ya been guardin' her all dat much lately seein' as how dis guy's gotten past ya twice already!"

"Don' even bring it over here, Gumbo," Logan warned, scowling. "Ya know I'd kill anyone who tries ta hurt that girl."

The younger man seemed to accept this and nodded, returning his attention to the woman who was now halfway across the room from him.

"Three months, _chère!_ When 'sactly were ya plannin' on tellin' me 'bout dis, eh? When de fifth letter came? De sixth? _Mon Dieu,_ Rogue! De bastard's practic'lly sayin' he wants t' _rape_ you! An' ya're prancin' 'round in public like a doe in an open field! How much easier are ya gon' make dis f'r him?!" He was pacing now, the rhythmic motion somehow further powering his infuriation. "Why de hell didn' Raven do anyt'in' 'bout dis?! Dat _maman_ o' yours got no sense -- "

He stopped suddenly, both his movement and his tirade, acknowledging for the first time the huge amount of floor space that separated them, and how she was staring at him with watchful green eyes that seemed ready to bolt at any second. He caught a glimpse of caution in those fathomless depths, as well as… fear?

Then it dawned on him. He realized just how much he must look like her father at that moment, screaming at her like he was. And the effect his sudden temper must have had on her, considering her normally outspoken mind was now uncharacteristically quiet. He felt a sliver of compassion creep its way into his heart, but it wasn't enough to overshadow the fear, frustration and anger that had first taken root there.

Without another word, Remy spun on his heel, thrust the letter into Logan's hands and stormed out of the parlor without so much as a backward glance.

"Guido!" Logan yelled, almost surprised when the other man seemed to materialize out of thin air. No doubt the rest of the household as well was lurking about in the shadows just outside the room, interested in what the uproar was all about. He handed the letter to the other man. "Tighter watch on her," he ordered simply. "Tell the others."

Now that Remy was out of the room, Rogue sank into the cushions of the couch, trying to convince herself that the sensation of numbness spreading throughout her body was on account of being separated from her lover. However, had she chosen to be honest with herself, she would have realized that it was on account of never having experienced a time in her life when she felt so bitterly cold inside, so empty and so alone.

----

Good crap! What could possibly happen next?!


	10. Vulnerable

**Disclaimer: **... ... ... ... ... I was sending the disclaimer telepathically to everyone. Did you get it? No? _Damn!_ I'm not a mutant... what a drag...

**A/N: **It'll be quick this time, I promise. I'm using this space strictly for responses to the reviews.

~ T., Dragonseizer, V -- Thank you for the words of encouragement! If I didn't have you guys urging me on then I would've stopped a long, long time ago! I appreciate you taking the time to review!

~ VIKcheeleader -- Thanks for the kind words! Yeah, making Rogue go all angsty on us this time around just didn't feel right to me. Sorry to anyone who was actually waiting for that to happen! As for the other thing, according to Remy, he _didn't_ sleep with Genevieve and that's what he meant when he told Rogue "It's not true." He was denying the allegations against him. Well as of now, his lawyer believes him. And Rogue believes him. Do all of you believe him?

~ ilovetidus -- Didn't I? Or did I? ; )

~ Raven Wings -- Thank you! That was extremely flattering to read and I appreciate it a lot!

~ missy42 -- That's a lot of exclamation points for one review... are you trying to kill me with punctuation marks? ; )

~ Christy S. -- With such kind words and great ideas as yours, I'm sure it won't be the last time someone mentions your name in their acknowledgements! ; ) Genevieve's perspective, huh? Interesting... I asked her if she'd be willing to do it and she started getting all egotistcal on me, like a prima donna you wouldn't believe! Told me to get in touch with her 'people.' Damn, these fictional characters have big heads... : )

**CHAPTER 10  
Vulnerable**

He could feel the beads of sweat forming at his brow, silently complementing the perspiration that covered the rest of his body. Some far-off portion of his brain told him that he had better stop before he overexerted himself. But with the way he was feeling at the moment, overexertion was the least of his problems.

After he had left Logan and Rogue in the parlor, Remy LeBeau wandered in and out of a number of other rooms around the house, not really focused on a specific destination, but rather trying to rid himself of the fuming anger that boiled acidly in his gut. Finally, in a spark of cathartic genius, he decided to take his raging emotions to the training hall. He had been beating on the punching bag in front of him for the better half of the past hour, mercilessly pounding his fists into its leather carcass again and again. The physical movement did nothing to take his mind off the situation with Rogue, but at least it helped to clear his thoughts. There was something to be said about the adrenaline-producing properties of anger.

The scowl on his face deepened as he recalled the words pasted onto the note that Logan had found. …_Soon you will be with me… in my arms…_ His right fist connected with the punching bag, quickly followed by his left. _Beneath me… screaming out my name…_ The training bag swayed with the rapid succession of blows, causing the connecting chain above to groan in protest.

How could she have not told him about it? A maniac on the loose, keeping tabs of her every move was not exactly something that should have slipped her mind. How many times in the past few months had they been on the phone with one another? She'd had every opportunity to tell him then. Maybe she'd been reluctant to tell him over the phone for fear of someone overhearing the conversation. But if that were the case, she could have told him on the night they were last together, the night when they had met up at the dance club.

_De club,_ he thought, suddenly grabbing the sides of the swinging punching bag to halt its movement. _De night at de club, when I went t'see her… She knew den! She knew 'bout dis bastard den an' didn' say not'in' 'bout it!_ His hand struck the leather casing. "What de hell is dat girl doin'?" he wondered aloud. "She's been sittin' on dis f'r three months, jus' goin' 'bout her business like ev'ryt'in's fine. Don' she realize dat she could get hurt? Or worse…" He couldn't even bring himself to think it, much less say it out loud.

He would be the first to admit that he'd had a pretty good run at life. It might have started out shaky, but it had turned around and now he didn't have any reason to complain. When she showed up, it just got that much better. It was cliché and he knew it. The boys back in Fabian's bunch would be having a good chuckle at him now, getting himself too attached to a woman. It was the cardinal rule of the streets: get close to no one. Even the relationships with the other members of Fabian's group were forged more out of necessity than anything else. And yet here he was, going crazy over the thought of something happening to her. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- let that happen. She meant too much to him.

And now some demented freak was stalking her, leaving her jewelry and 'love' letters, and entertaining perverted thoughts of the woman that meant more to Remy than life itself. He didn't want to imagine what _could_ happen if the man got too close to Rogue. She was a public figure, exposed and vulnerable for everyone to see. It wouldn't be impossible for the psycho to get tickets to one of her shows. Or find a way to gain access to the backstage area of a particular venue. There were endless ways in which he could meld himself into the constant crowd of people that accumulated wherever she went. For God's sake, the man was able to get close enough to slip a letter into the pocket of her jacket!

His fist slammed into the punching bag with such force that the line of tight stitching burst open, causing the filling to pour out in a rush of sand. Remy couldn't help but think it was an omen of some sort. Of what specific nature he wasn't sure.

_Compared t'dis,_ he thought wryly as he stared lethargically at his handiwork, _dose two lawsuits sound like a catwalk. Dey wanna try an' say I slept wit' dat girl, dat I got her pregnant? Fine. Whatever. But dis t'ing wit' Rogue… dis is diff'rent._ He stretched his protesting muscles. _We don' even know what dis lunatic is capable of, what he might do if given de chance._

Vaguely, he remembered hearing something about a serial killer on the news some time ago; a man who supposedly beat and raped his victims viciously before finally murdering them. He saw an image of Rogue in his mind, stripped of all clothing and dead cold in the back alleys of New York City. Along with the image came a nauseating feeling that rose through his system and threatened to choke off his air supply.

He shook the disturbing thoughts from his head. Thinking like that certainly didn't help their situation too much. With a frustrated sigh, Remy grabbed a towel and headed for his room to shower.

- oOo -

"When did ya get this one, Rogue?" Logan demanded, rounding the couch to come face to face with her. She lifted her gaze to his and he could see that she was visibly shaken by Remy's behavior. It was evident in the dull light of her eyes, the slight fall of the corners of her mouth, the heavy set of her shoulders. She looked so small and so fragile, and he hated it.

Ever since he had come to know the girl some four years ago, she had always been a spitfire, entirely too sassy for her own good. Even at the tender age of fifteen, when thrust into the cutthroat world of the recording industry, she had never let anyone push her around. If there was an idea she didn't like, she wouldn't think twice about saying so. He remembered seeing a little bit of himself in her: gutsy, proud and stubborn as all get out.

But now, to see her so… vulnerable… it wasn't something that he was used to. Nor was it something he liked.

"Ah… Ah found it 'bout a month ago," she said in response to his earlier question. "While we were in Memphis."

"Memphis?" Logan echoed, mentally trying to sort through their days on tour. He made the connection. "The day ya went after that father?"

She nodded silently.

"He was there?!" he yelled, becoming agitated once again. "Where? At the venue? Backstage?"

Rogue winced at his tone and placed her fingertips to her temple, trying to rub away the ache that was developing there. "Logan, calm down. He wasn't in Memphis. Ah said Ah _found_ it while we were there."

He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. "Y'know when an' where he left this one, don' ya, darlin'?" Somehow he already knew the answer.

"At th' club." She turned her head away from him. "When we went ta meet Remy."

"I knew that was a bad idea. I _knew_ it!" He began pacing the length of the couch in front of her. "You are too stubborn fer ya own good, girl!"

"Jus' like some people," muttered Rogue under her breath.

Either he hadn't heard her or chose to ignore her snide remark. Instead, he asked, "Why didn' ya say anythin'?"

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. He could see her brassy demeanor returning.

"An' let Momma cancel th' tour right in th' middle o' it? Ah don' think so, sugah." She rose from the sofa and smoothed out the wrinkles from her pants. "Ah don' wanna be scared o' him, Logan," she added in a quieter tone.

He'd forgotten how important that was to her, to not be afraid of anyone or anything. She had spent her entire childhood living in fear of her father's anger. When she became old enough to realize the fault in her father's actions, she had sworn to never again let anyone have that kind of power over her.

"'Sides which," she continued, breaking into his thoughts, "it's been two an' a half months since he planted that last letter. Maybe he's given up." She glanced at him from over her shoulder as she made her way to the door. "Be embarrassin' ta get th' police all riled up fo' nothin'."

"Men like him don' jus' 'give up,' darlin'."

"Well, neither do women like me, sugah." She turned to face him fully. "But it seems like that's exactly what y'all want me ta do; you, Momma, an' now even Remy. Ah ain't hidin', Logan, an' that's all there is to it."

And with that she was out the door.

- oOo -

_De shower did me some good -- not much, but some. Body relaxed a bit, but m'mind still felt like it was on fire. Couldn' stop t'inkin' 'bout de letter; couldn' stop worryin' 'bout Rogue. I hated de whole helpless feelin'. Dere was not'in' I could do t'protect her. Not'in' short o' standin' by her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, makin' sure she was okay -- which was 'sactly what her bodyguards were already doin'. _

_Wrapped a towel 'round m'waist an' stepped out o' de steam-filled bathroom, de cold air from de air conditionin' hittin' me like a brick wall. Rogue was right; ev'ryt'in' was gettin' more an' more complicated. Felt like our lives were one o' dose soap operas dey aired on afternoon TV. Bad example o' life imitatin' art, in m'opinion. I had no intention o' bein' one o' dose characters dat was killed, only t'return a couple o' years later. _

_I settled onta de bed, leanin' f'rward t'rest m'head in m'hands. Tourin' f'r 'Infrequency' had ended li'l over a week b'fore, an' work f'r de next album wouldn' start 'til next month. I had 'bout four weeks o' downtime t' m'self. T'ought 'bout clearin' m'schedule so dat I could travel wit' Rogue while she finished up wit' her tour, but wit' two possible lawsuits 'gainst me it didn' seem likely. De press was already houndin' us 'bout de cases an' de speculations dat we've been havin' a secret love affair -- which is actu'lly true -- but givin' dem proof o' dat was jus' gon' add another log t'de fire. _

_She didn' make a sound as she entered de bedroom, despite de fact dat she was treadin' on hardwood floors. Still heard her t'ough. Knew she was standin' in de doorway, starin' at me, waitin' f'r me t'say somet'in'. But I didn't. Didn' even raise m'head from its place in m'hands. I was afraid if I looked at dat beautiful face I'd f'rget ev'ryt'in' dat was endangerin' our relationship._

"Ah went ta th' kitchen," _she said, an' I heard her set a tray down onta one o' de tables in de room._ "Antoine asked me ta bring this up ta you. Since ya didn' eat anythin' before…"

_I lifted m'head den, only I didn' turn around. Jus' kept starin' at de wall ahead o' me, but m'ears were tuned inta ev'ry move she made._

"Remy…" _She sighed softly, an' den tried again._ "Sugah, Ah -- "

"Ya weren' gon' tell me 'bout de letters, were ya, Rogue?" _I interrupted, still keepin' m'back t'her. I could jus' imagine de quiet look o' confirmation dat was no doubt on her face right den._ "Ever?"

_Took her a while t'answer, an' I got de impression dat she was tryin' t'come up wit' a believable lie dat was meant t'appease me somehow. Problem was, de femme wasn' too good in de fibbin' department. She had too expressive a nature t'cover up de truth._

"Ah was gonna tell ya, Remy," _she attempted._ "But it never seemed like th' right time ta bring it up."

_When I still didn' look at her, she came 'round de bed an' stood in front o' me, blockin' m'pretty view o' de wall an' forcin' me t'stare in de vicinity o' her belly. An' damn, were de wrong kinda t'oughts runnin' t'rough m'head at dat moment. She knelt b'fore me an' I fin'lly met her gaze. F'r a split second ev'ryt'in' was perfect; we were jus' two people in love, wit'out a care in de world. Den de second was gone, an' our problems slapped me back t'reality. Time t'fess up, mon coeur._

"What's de real reason ya didn' tell me?"

"That _is_ th' real reason, Remy."

"De first letter got t'you almost three months ago. Since den we're been on de phone I don' know how many times, we're always e-mailin' each other, an' we even spent de night t'gether when I was in New York. Now 'm askin' you again, _chère,_ what's de _real_ reason ya didn' tell me?"

_She continued t'stare inta m'eyes as if she were tryin' t'gauge what was goin' t'rough m'mind. Unfortunately f'r her, I could be real diff'cult t'read when I wan'ed t'be. Her gaze dropped t'de floor an' I saw her take a deep breath._

"Ah knew you'd get all riled up if ya knew 'bout th' letters," _she said quietly._ "More than likely you woulda cancelled th' rest o' yoah tour an' got onta th' next plane ta New York. Once ya got there, you an' Momma would have no doubt cancelled _mah_ tour an' started thinkin' up ways ta tighten security 'round me. Prob'ly nothin' short o' lockin' me up inna bomb shelter underground."

"Dis isn' funny, Rogue," _I told her sharply. _

_She sighed._ "Ah know, sugah; Ah'm sorry." _She took hold o' m'hands an' looked back at me._ "I know how ya get when yoah worryin' 'bout me. Yoah worse than Momma. Ah didn' tell ya 'cause Ah didn' want ya ta worry. Honest," _she added when I gave her a skeptical look. _

"_Chère,_ dis isn' like de times when ya sick an' 'm wonderin' if ya gettin' 'nough chicken soup," _I argued._ "Someone is out dere threatenin' ya life."

"He ain't threatenin' mah life."

"It's de same t'ing!" _I yelled, shootin' off o' de bed an' startlin' her so much dat she almost fell onta her backside. I turned away f'r a minute t'try an' cool m'temper b'fore facin' her again._ "Why aren' ya takin' dese letters seriously?"

"Ah _am_ takin' them seriously, Remy." _She got t'her feet but didn' try t'close de gap dat sep'rated us._ "Ah know this stalker ordeal is no bag o' peanuts."

"Den why aren' ya tryin' t'protect yaself?" _I demanded._ "Why did ya insist on makin' yaself even more vulnerable by pushin' t'rough wit' de tour?"

"First off, Ah _am_ protectin' mahself. Logan's team is almost double o' what it used t'be four months ago. An' secondly, like Ah told Momma an' Logan not too long ago, Ah am NOT, under any circumstances, lettin' ANYONE ruin mah dream! Ah would think that you o' all people would understand that!"

_She was yellin' now, already warmed up an' ready t'continue de fight if need be. I recognized de passion in her eyes, de spark o' life dat showed up whenever she felt strongly 'bout somet'in'. One o' de reason I loved her so much._

"Why not go t'de police, _mignonne?" I asked, softenin' m'voice t'defuse de tension dat was buildin' 'round us._ "Why not let dem handle it? Let dem do deir job an' catch dis _salaud_ [bastard]."

"Don' ya think Ah want ta call them, Remy?" _She slumped onta de bed an' looked up at me wit' big, shinin' emerald eyes._ "Don' ya think Ah want ta see this guy found as much as th' rest o' y'all?"

"Den why haven' ya contacted dem?" _De look on her face jus' about broke m'heart. It was de saddest dere's-not'in'-I-c'n-do-'bout-it look I had ever seen. It made me wan' t'hunt down dat stalker an' rip his entrails out t'rough his nose._

"Because they can't be trusted," _she replied._ "Ah know that sounds bad, but it's true. If one cop knows 'bout th' stalker then pretty soon all o' them will. All it takes is one person ta leak information ta th' press an' it'll spread like wildfire."

_I sat down beside her on de bed. "Chère,_ if dat's de price we have t'pay t'keep you safe den it's worth ev'ry penny."

_She raised a hand t'stroke m'cheek. De small touch sent a surge o' soothin' heat t'roughout m'system._ "You don' get it, Remy. If that happens Ah won't be safe. When th' media hears o' this, they'll shoot all o' our security efforts down. Y'know how uncontrollable they can be when they're tryin' ta fish out a story. It'll get insane."

_I took hold o' her arm an' guided her onta m'lap, gently brushin' her hair out o' her eyes. As I was doin' dat, I caught her gaze an' said softly,_ "Damned if we do an' damned if we don'."

_She nodded sadly an' raised a finger t'trace de outline o' m'lips, her eyes followin' de slow movement o' her hand. I was findin' it diff'cult t'concentrate on what I wan'ed t'say, what wit' such a beguilin' enchantress practic'lly breathin' de air inta m'lungs. I had t'take hold o' her wrist an' shake her slightly t'stop de torturous action._

"I still don' like de idea o' you bein' so open an' exposed in public, _chère._ You might've been lucky so far, but who knows what de man is t'inkin' up."

"It's been a while since Ah got a letter from him. He prob'ly got sick o' sendin' them by now."

"_Non, mon amant_ [lover], he's in dis 'til he gets what he wants." _If de topic o' conversation weren' so serious I woulda sworn I saw Rogue smile._

"Ya sound jus' like Logan," _she stated, slidin' her hands up m'chest._ "You two have more in common than ya think."

"Now dere's a scary t'ought."

_She did smile den, one dat completely lightened her face. Had t'stop f'r a moment an' wonder if dis was what de angels in Heaven looked like, a face full o' sweetness an' cherubic innocence. Was dis how dey felt like, all soft an' silky t'de touch? Did dey have her intoxicatin' scent o' jasmine dat found its way inta ev'ry pore o' ya bein' like raindrops on de earth? If dey did, I figured dyin' couldn' come fast 'nough f'r me. _

_Her smile lost its radiance when she asked me softly,_ "You still mad at me, Cajun?"

"_Chèrie,_ I was never mad at you." _I slid m'hands up t'draw her closer b'fore she could say anyt'in' more._ "I could never be mad at you, love. Never."

_She returned m'kiss wit' such a passion dat I almost landed on m'back on de bed. It'd been a while since we were in each other's arms. But no matter how much time we spent apart, I could never f'rget de feel o' her, de taste o' her. De mem'ries o' bein' wit' her were burned inta m'brain, branded onta m'soul. An' I was a willin' victim under her spell. _

_Her hands undid de towel at m'waist wit' such an urgency dat I could tell she wasn' messin' 'round. Not dat I could blame her. T'ought de layers o' clothin' on her own body were works o' de devil himself. Wasn' long b'fore both de towel an' her clothes were no longer a problem._

- oOo -

Rogue woke to the feeling of her sleeping lover's arms encircled protectively around her, and snuggled even closer into his warmth. She marveled at the peaceful expression on his face only inches from her own. The few milky rays of moonlight that were strong enough to penetrate the darkness caught on the angles of his face, creating a picture that was so striking she wanted to cry. She raised a fingertip to his jaw and lightly ran over the flesh there. A quiet smile appeared on her face. He needed to shave; the prickly stubble was tickling her skin. Her curious finger found its way to his mouth, the part of his body that had her so fascinated earlier that day. It was soft to the touch and warm from each breath he exhaled. She blushed at the memory of what those lips had been doing to her only hours before. How he had used those lips to bring the most exquisite sensations to every corner of her body.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt movement beneath her finger, but slowly relaxed as she realized that it was only Remy favoring her with a light kiss. She could hear the soft chuckle building in his throat.

"Ya plannin' on stoppin' dere, _petite?"_ he asked, lazily opening his eyes to drink in the sight of her. "'Cause, y'know, dere are other parts o' de body dat wouldn' mind gettin' some o' ya attention." He grinned wickedly.

"Well, they're jus' gonna haveta wait their turn, now aren't they?" She leaned forward to kiss him sweetly. "Seein' as Ah've got mah hands full up here." She locked her arms about his waist and brought herself as close to him as was physically possible.

Remy's hand reached down to stroke the small of her back. He had something he wanted to say to her but he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

"Rogue?" he began, after letting a span of silence pass between them.

"Hmm?"

"_Chère,_ earlier… in de parlor… did I scare you?"

For the longest stretch of time, she didn't answer and he wondered if she had fallen back asleep. He was just about to look down at her to see if she was awake when she whispered, "Yes."

He had suspected as much, had seen it in her eyes just before he had stormed out of the room, but he hadn't been prepared for her confirmation of such. A heavy weight fell onto his shoulders, eating away at his pride. It was a sickening feeling knowing that he had hurt the woman he loved.

He tightened his embrace on her, pressing her body even closer to his own. Kissing her temple, he murmured, "'M sorry, _mignonne._ Didn' mean t'frighten you."

She merely nodded against his chest.

He tucked a hand under her chin and tilted her head upwards. "You believed me, didn' ya, _chère,_ when I told ya I could never be mad at you?" She nodded again, her eyes shining in the moonlight. "I was mad at de sick bastard who's doin' dis t'you. 'M worried 'bout you, Rogue."

"Ah know ya are, Remy," she answered. "But nothin's gonna happen ta me. Logan an' his team are th' best there is. They'll take care o' me." She smiled encouragingly. "Ev'rythin'll turn out fine, sugah. You'll see."

She was putting up a brave front, he could tell. She wanted to believe her own words -- and perhaps a part of her actually did -- but she was still shaken up by everything that was happening, both with the stalker and the lawsuits.

"Promise me ya'll stick close t'Logan, _chère,"_ he persisted. "Ya still have 'bout three weeks left on ya tour. Be careful. Don' go anywhere alone, not even t'de restroom; have Karen go wit' ya. An' if anyt'in' else happens, ya goin' t'de police." It was a statement of fact, not a request. "_D'accord?_ [Agreed?]" Once again she nodded her affirmation, but Remy wasn't satisfied with the gesture. "Promise me, Rogue."

"Ah promise," she assured him. "If things get any worse, Ah'll call th' police."

Those words served to pacify some of his anxiety but not much. He was still uneasy about the whole situation, and if given a choice, he would simply take Rogue away from this insanity. But since he couldn't do that, he had to settle for what he could get. He just hoped it would be enough.

"S'late," he said, gently adjusting her body to fit his. "Should get some rest. We'll talk 'bout dis more in de mornin'." He kissed her deeply before whispering, "_Bonne nuit, mon coeur."_

"Night, sugah," she answered. She laid her head against his chest and listened to the steady beating of his heart. The soothing, rhythmic sound softly lulled her back into a dream-laden sleep.

----

~ Man, it's _so_ sappy it's like maple syrup! *hangs head down in shame* Not even a single cliffhanger with which to make readers go ballistic! Have I sunk that low? Naw, just kiddening! I thought with all the excitement of the past two chapters, we should slow things down a bit. Wouldn't want anyone to get a heart attack or anything... : )

~ I was thinking of taking another survey. Quick! Get some pen and paper! Not that it'd do you any good... : ) I wanted to get inside your heads for a little bit (Eww! Gross! All that squishy brain matter and stuff...) So based on what's happened so far, what're your thoughts on a) how Genevieve got into Remy's hotel room; b) the stalker plot; and c) Remy's denial of the charges against him. And also who else from the Marvel Universe do you think should make an appearance?


	11. Curtain Call

**Disclaimer: **Does anybody else wonder what will happen if you DON'T put up a disclaimer? (If you guys don't hear from me in like six months, then you'll know to ALWAYS put one up.)

**A/N: **Okay, review-commenting time!

* First off, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate the encouragement SO VERY, VERY MUCH! Thank you as well to everyone that shared their theories on what was happening. Those were some excellent, excellent ideas! All I can say is that I'm gonna have to award a No-Prize to someone on the Review Board in future chapters! ; )

~ ilovetidus -- Bobby actually made an appearance already as one of Rogue's choreographers back in Chapter 5, with Betsy. But your comment _did_ remind me of my original intention to make him one of Rogue's confidants. That didn't quite pan out in the previous chapters so I thought I'd try it again. As for Emma, I didn't have any plans for her in this story, but since you asked... ; )

~ Dog Face -- Great analogy! I guess unconsciously I _was_ patterning her after Julia in some way: sweet and yet not a pushover. As well as being down-to-earth and unpretentious despite being so ridiculously famous. With regards to the Gen X kids -- and Kitty, as well -- I try to use them to show a different perspective on the events that are happening. Thanks for commenting on them!

~ Broadway (and Sarah too, of course!) -- You guys crack me up! Save me a spot over at that place with the padded walls! I'm gonna need it after this story! : )

~ Christy S. -- I don't know if you've been able to register yet or not, but I was thinking if your current email isn't working, you could always get a new one at Yahoo or Hotmail and then use that to register with. Once your old email is up and running, you could simply exchange the two. I know there's a function on the author's profile page where you can do that. Let me know what pen name you'll be using. I'd love to read your work!

~ Marvel -- I was gonna go another way altogether but I liked your idea better so I borrowed it. Hope you don't mind! ; ) "Finish this fast!"? Oh my gosh! Pressure! ; ) I got this out as soon as I could, mostly in hopes that you'd get to read it before your move -- and believe me, this is the fastest chapter my typing fingers have EVER seen come out of my brain -- but we've got some ways to go before we actually get to the end. (Am I actually _saying_ these words?! This fic is like a never-ending story from hell!)

**CHAPTER 11  
Curtain Call**

"Hey, guys," Paige Guthrie greeted as she entered the Common Room at the Frost Academy in Boston, Massachusetts. "What're y'all watchin'?"

Angelo turned to look at her over the back of the couch. "We're not watching anything, _chica,"_ he informed her. "Jubilee is holding the remote control hostage and is making us sit through this stupid program."

"What's it about?" Paige snuck a quick kiss to her boyfriend, Jonothan, before settling in between he and Angelo on the couch.

"They're talkin' 'bout the press conference that Rogue gave a couple of days ago," answered Jubilee from the armchair to their left. She reached over to the bowl of potato chips in Angelo's possession. "And don't pretend like you're not interested, 'Lo," she told him. "I know for a fact that you're a fan; I've seen your CD collection."

"I never said I didn't like her music, Jubes," he defended. "With a _chica_ that beautiful and a voice that sweet, who wouldn't like it? But sitting around and gossiping about her personal life isn't on the top of my list of things to do."

Jubilee turned away from the television to face him. "Oh, come on! This is the biggest story that's hit the music industry since Longshot and Dazzler got married!"

"That's exactly why it is so insignificant," Monet St. Croix said evenly from the chair opposite her. "It's not the first time that one of these 'celebrity scandals' has come about, and it certainly won't be the last. No doubt in a matter of months, another story will emerge and this one will be forgotten."

"Never mind 'em, Jubes," Paige interjected when she saw the younger girl about to retort. "These grumps may not be interested, but Ah am. Ah don' have a clue what's been goin' on; Ah've been studyin' fo' finals th' whole week."

"Man, Paige, live a little, will ya?" the young Asian advised before launching into her 'gossip' mode. "You _do_ know about the rumors goin' around, don't you? The ones that're saying Rogue's havin' an affair with Remy LeBeau?"

Paige nodded. "That's been goin' on fo' months now, but neither o' 'em have said one peep about it."

"Well, luv," Jonothan put in from beside her, gesturing toward the TV, "they have now. That's what the press conference was for; Rogue finally admitted to having a relationship with the bloke."

Jubilee, a little miffed about having her story taken away from her, added, "They've been seeing each other secretly for the past fifteen months -- "

"It scares me to know that you're aware of how long their relationship has lasted, down to the exact _month,"_ Angelo interrupted. He received a dirty look as reward for his comment.

"Like I was sayin'," she continued, munching on the chips in her hand and then reaching for more, "they've been dating since last year. Meeting up with each other whenever there's a hole in their schedules, keeping a low profile -- "

"Rushing into telephone booths and quickly shedding their mild-mannered-Clark-Kent disguises to reveal a Superman costume underneath."

"Angelo, you are two seconds away from having all your skin shoved down your throat," Jubilee hissed at him.

Monet raised an eyebrow in their direction. "Will you two juveniles behave? Let her finish this idiotic discussion so we can move on. The rest of us have better things to do with our time."

Both Jubilee and Angelo shot her a scowl.

"Seriously, y'all," Paige said, "what's th' news? Ah wanna know. Ah heard somethin' 'bout a lawsuit?"

"Yeah, some woman's claiming that Remy LeBeau is the father of her baby," answered Jubilee. "That's gotta suck for Rogue, y'know? Imagine, he's runnin' around shackin' up with every groupie that comes his way and she doesn't have a clue."

"There are some people who think it's her own fault," Jonothan offered, standing and manually muting the television as the program they were watching went to commercial. "That she's so bloody stuck-up that he couldn't help but cheat on her."

"Jono, how can ya say that?" asked Paige, turning toward him. "She isn't like that at all!"

With a bored expression on her face, Monet asked, "How can you be so certain, Paige?"

"Did you forget?" Angelo threw in. "Hayseed's brother Sam, has been working for Rogue for the last couple of years. She's got an 'inside' connection." He winked at Paige.

"Well, what did Rogue say 'bout th' suit?" inquired the young southerner.

"That she supported Remy one hundred and three percent." Jubilee shifted to a more comfortable position. "Didn't say whether she believed the accusation or not, though."

"Well, Ah'm sure he hasn't done anythin' wrong then, since she's decidin' ta stand by him. She's a good judge o' character."

"It's all a hoax," Monet suddenly stated, coolly inspecting her manicure.

After a few moments, Jonothan finally broke their stunned silence. "What are you talking about, M?"

The native Algerian sighed, as if the concept should have been as painfully obvious for them as it was for her. "It's quite coincidental that these issues have sprung up during the months when _both_ performers were out on tour. It's simply a well thought out publicity stunt to keep the public talking."

"You are so full of it, M," Jubilee stated, rolling her eyes. "What, they paid off the woman who said Remy got her pregnant _and_ the lawyers who drew up the paternity papers? Just to sell some concert tickets?"

"Did she say why she postponed her New York performances after she came back from the European tour?" Paige asked, hoping to avoid yet another heated debate between her two friends.

Angelo answered her through a mouthful of potato chips. "She said she took three days off for 'personal reasons.' Jubie thinks she was chewing out a piece of Remy's hide somewhere. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"

"Well, that actually works for us," acknowledged Jubilee, increasing the volume on the television as the show came out of commercial. "Now we can watch the concert down in NYC _after_ finals, instead of two weeks ago like we were supposed to, before the dates got changed. It'll be like our celebratory long weekend following all this torturous studying. I can't wait!"

- oOo -

"People're still talking about that press conference you gave," Bobby Drake commented as he smoothed out the pages of the newspaper he was reading. "Still front page news and it's already been over a week."

"Ya sound surprised, sugah," said Rogue from the seat beside him. "It's gonna be a while before ev'rythin' dies down."

It was the very last night of her 'Where Are You?' tour in New York City, and she and Bobby were settled comfortably in her dressing room backstage. The night's opening act was currently performing for the sold-out audience and the two friends were taking advantage of the hour or so before they were set to take the stage.

"I can't believe I didn't know about you and LeBeau. I can't believe you didn't tell me! I am one of your closest friends, aren't I? Your bud, your pal, your confidant. Look at all we've been through together! All those endless hours in the dance studio, leaning on each other for support when Betsy was beating routine after routine into us. Doesn't that count for something?"

She grinned at his little melodrama, stretching out her legs in front of her. "Speakin' o' Betts, where is that girl? She usually hangs out with us before ev'ry show."

"There was a problem with the rest of the dancers. Something about an adjustment in one of the routines."

"An' shouldn't you be helpin' with that, Bobby?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "You _are_ one o' th' choreographers, in case you've fo'gotten."

He waved a hand dismissively. "She can handle it by herself. Betsy likes the whole director/dictator aspect of choreography anyway. Maybe more than she does performing." He set the newspaper aside for a moment, messily folding it into a heap upon his lap. "So how're things going with… What's his name again?"

"Remy," she supplied, although she knew Bobby was perfectly aware of _who_ Remy was and didn't need to be reminded of his name. "It could be better, actu'lly."

"He's not treating you right?"

"No, no, it's not like that." She shifted positions so that she was facing Bobby on the couch. "It's jus' all this stuff that's goin' on around us that could be better, th' media an' ev'rything."

"You mean the lawsuit against him?" He waited for her to nod before asking, "What did he say about that?"

"That it wasn't true. He didn't sleep with her so he can't be th' daddy."

"And you believe him?"

"O' course Ah believe him, sugah," she declared. "Remy wouldn't lie ta me."

Bobby remained silent. He didn't know Remy LeBeau from Adam, and frankly he didn't really _want_ to know him. But the man was dating one of his best friends, and that meant he had to at least try and like the bum. In Bobby's opinion, that wasn't going to be easy. From the way the media portrayed him, LeBeau was a selfish, philandering jerk who lived for the pure thrill of life and nothing more. Exactly the type of person Bobby loved to hate. If he ever had the misfortune of meeting LeBeau in person, he'd be hard-pressed to act civilly toward him.

"So what's going to happen with that?" he asked.

Rogue ran a hand through her auburn hair, a sign that told Bobby she was stressed. "It's all ridin' on th' paternity test they conducted 'bout two weeks ago. We've been waitin' on th' results. Ah'm flyin' out ta L.A. t'morrow ta meet Remy an' settle this thing once an' fo' all."

"Things'll get back to normal then, huh?"

She smiled at him. "Ah hope so, sugah."

A sudden knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Bobby stood to answer it.

"If it's Kurt, tell him Ah've decided ta cancel t'night's show an' take an extended vacation in Hawaii," she joked, flopping down across the entire length of the couch and stretching.

"Don't forget to pack me in your suitcase, doll face." Bobby pulled the door open only to be assaulted with an eyeful of white lilies thrust into his face. "Whoa! What's all this?"

"Flowers for Ms. Rogue," came a feminine voice from behind the enormous bouquet.

Once Bobby had handed the arrangement to Rogue, he turned back to the woman at the door. She was a tall, attractive blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a seductive smile. "Hi," he squeaked before clearing his throat and deepening his voice considerably. "I don't believe we've met. My name's Bobby. Bobby Drake."

She accepted his extended hand and looked up at him through sooty eyelashes. "Emma Frost. A pleasure." The word rolled off her tongue like honey.

Bobby visibly gulped. "Do you work around here, Emma?" There was no laminated card around her neck identifying her as part of the crew.

"Occasionally," she answered cryptically. "Although I do have other... interests that keep me occupied." She turned to leave. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Drake."

A shiver ran up Bobby's spine at the tone of voice she used to address him so formally. Slowly, he closed the dressing room door and turned back to Rogue, only to find her smirking at him.

"Isn't it kinda soon aftah yoah breakup with Opal ta be ogling othah women?" she asked, flowers still in hand.

"There's nothing wrong with looking," he reasoned, sitting down on the sofa and once again pulling out the newspaper. "I thought _all_ women understood the concept of 'window-shopping.'"

"Is that what yoah callin' it now?"

Bobby scanned the pages before him and attempted to change the subject. "Who sent the weeds?"

"Yoah jus' jealous 'cause Ah'm gettin' gifts an' yoah not." She turned toward him and stuck her tongue out.

"You are _such_ a child," he said, rolling his eyes. "Mature a little, will you?" An article caught his eye. "Hey, look. They still haven't found that Haller guy."

"Who?"

The newspaper was lowered with a string of crumpling noises. "Where have you been, Mississippi? It's been all over the news for months now."

"Ah've been on tour, Bobby," she shot defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "Some o' us actu'lly work fo' a livin', ya know. Why? Who is he?"

"Man, come down and spend some time with us lesser mortals once in a while, would you?" he teased. "Haller's the main suspect in a series of rape/murder cases in the city. He escaped from a mental institution a while ago and they still haven't been able to find him. Guy's a smart one."

"How many people has he killed?"

"Four. And the police think he's working on a fifth. They want to catch him before he comes out of his stalking mode."

The blood in Rogue's veins froze. "W-what?"

Bobby didn't notice the tinge of fear that entered her eyes as he returned his attention to the article. "He stalks his victims for a while before he kills them. Kind of like a cat playing with a mouse before it eats it."

Rogue quickly turned around so that Bobby couldn't see the array of emotions splayed across her face. She was sure the pounding of her heart was loud enough for him to hear.

"So who sent the weeds?" he asked again, oblivious to the tension building in her body.

She forced herself to pick up the white envelope that accompanied the floral arrangement. She wouldn't panic. She was safe here. There was security all around the venue, and Logan would be back soon from his perimeter check. Everything was fine. She took a deep breath.

"It's prob'ly from Remy," she told him, breaking the seal on the card. "Or someone from X-Gene. They know it's mah last day o' tourin' an' Ah know some o' 'em are in th' audience t'night -- " The breath caught in her throat and she turned a sickening shade of white.

"Rogue?" Bobby asked, rising from the couch in alarm. He was across the room in four steps. "What's wrong?"

"No," she breathed, her eyes wide in disbelief. Her hands started shaking violently until he took the card from her. Looking down, he began to read.

_Distance has kept you from me for too long. But the dove always finds its way home. And so shall you, my love. Into my arms, my bed.  
To be with me, even in death._

"Who is this from?" he demanded of her. "Remy?"

"No," she barely managed to whisper.

He persisted. "Is this from Remy?"

"No!" she cried, leaning against the vanity for support and wrapping an arm across her stomach, as if the gesture would alleviate the uneasiness that she felt there. "It's... not Remy..."

"God, doll face, what is it?" He lifted her chin with his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. His face was filled with worry and concern. "What can I do? Do you want me to call the police?"

She shook her head, compelling herself to calm down, at least for Bobby's sake. "Get Logan."

"Right. Logan." He went to a side table and picked up the telephone extension. The line ran throughout the complex, connecting every room in the venue. After a few minutes, Bobby replaced the receiver. "He's on his way." He returned to her side. "C'mon, kid, sit down. You look like you're about to collapse."

She allowed him to guide her back to the couch. _Why t'night o' all nights?_ she wondered. _What, he couldn't have waited twenty-four hours ta send this one so Ah could at least get th' tour behind me?_ She grudgingly accepted the glass of water that Bobby handed her.

"What's the deal, Rogue?" he asked. "What's going on?"

She swallowed a few gulps before facing her friend. Surprisingly enough, the cool liquid helped to calm her nerves. "Someone has been leavin' me letters," she motioned to the vanity where the card was laying, "like that one."

"Who's been leaving them?"

"Ah don' know."

Bobby looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face. "Someone's... _stalking_ you?" The words sounded strange to his ears, almost foreign or out of place.

"It would seem so, sugah."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since before rehearsals."

"Rehearsals?" he repeated. "You mean rehearsals for the tour? That was almost four months ago! Why are you out on tour if someone is stalking you?" She was about to answer when he cut her off suddenly. "Rogue, it could be Haller. Did you ever think of that? The man's a killer. A psychopath."

"Ah didn' know 'bout Haller 'til ya told me jus' a li'l while ago."

"Even if you didn't know about him, why would you willingly expose yourself like that?"

They were interrupted by Logan's sudden appearance at the door. "What happened?" he asked without preamble.

Bobby stood and went to retrieve the card from the vanity, handing it to Logan. "Someone sent her this. Along with the bouquet."

The older man scanned the note and then cursed under his breath. His eyes snapped to Bobby. "What did he look like?" he demanded.

"Who?"

"The man that delivered the flowers," he hissed impatiently.

"It wasn't a man," Rogue answered from behind them. "It was a woman. Pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes. 'Bout mah height."

Logan stomped to the door and yanked it open. "Guido," he yelled. "Check the exits. We're lookin' fer a woman: 'bout five-eight, blonde, blue eyes."

"You're kidding me, right?" the other man asked. "Do you know how many people here tonight fit that description?"

"Don't argue with me!" barked Logan. "We ain't got time fer this." He shut the door and turned to Rogue. "Get'cha stuff, darlin', we're leavin'."

Bobby looked from one to the other as Rogue retrieved her belongings. "What? You can't be serious! It's only fifteen minutes till call time!"

"You'd rather jeopardize her safety by havin' her stay here with that whacko somewhere in the buildin'?"

"No, of course not," Bobby stammered. "But what about the fans? What're we going to do about them? Just send them home?"

"That's exactly what we're gonna do, kid."

"You can't do that!" Bobby insisted. "Do you know how many people are out there? This is a freaking _stadium,_ for crying out loud! There are thousands of people out there! If you cancel the show now, they'll tear this place apart!"

Rogue stopped midway through the door. "He's right, Logan. We can't jus' leave them hangin' like this."

"We ain't got a choice, darlin'. We're gettin' out o' here. Now." He shooed her into the corridor where they were meet by four other members of the security team.

"Bobby?" she called out, searching behind her, past the bodyguards that flanked her and Logan like an impenetrable shell.

"I'm here, doll face." He eased himself between the other men to stand beside her. Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's going to be okay."

As they made their way swiftly through the corridors of the venue, Rogue could hear the deafening roar of the audience through the concrete walls. She could literally feel the air around her vibrate from their collective shouts. Judging from their thunderous outcries, it would have been safe to say that the audience was more than ready for the night's main performance.

"Get on the horn with Kurt," Logan ordered the man to his right. "Tell him we've received another piece an' that we're takin' her home. Tonight's show is cancelled indefinitely."

She felt a sharp pang tug at her heart. This wasn't right; she couldn't leave. This was her addiction, her high. She needed to be in front of an audience, performing, just as much as she needed oxygen to survive. She _needed_ to be up there onstage, building that familiar connection between herself and the thousands of people that had come out to see her. She would _not_ disappoint them by leaving. She couldn't do that to them.

The guard behind her almost slammed into her body when she abruptly stopped walking. The rest of their entourage immediately halted when they noticed her missing from beside them.

"What is it, darlin'?" Logan asked curtly. The sooner they got out of the open, the sooner he'd feel better.

"Ah can't leave," she said simply, meeting his eyes. "Ah can't do that ta them."

He knew that when she said 'them' she meant her fans. They were extremely important to her, and she was just as loyal to them as they were to her. Running out on a stadium full of them was not something she was likely to do.

"There's no possible way that you could perform now, Rogue," he tried to reason with her. "Security's been compromised. He could be anywhere in this buildin'."

"But you have this place locked down tight, sugah. Check-points at the doors an' more guards than Fort Knox."

"You can't be seriously considerin' goin' onstage tonight!" he cried out in disbelief.

"Please, Logan," she pleaded, eyes wide and beseeching. "Don' let him win. Ah know you can protect me th' whole time Ah'm up there."

He stared at her, debating with himself, weighing their options. He couldn't believe he was even _thinking_ about her proposal, but he could never deny her anything whenever she shot those big green eyes in his direction. It was blackmail, is what it was. The girl could get a cobra to do her bidding if she wanted to.

Plus, he knew she was right. Ever since he'd learned of the second letter, he had nearly doubled the number of men on his team. And every venue was checked and re-checked before she even set foot on the property. Every single member of the audience -- _thousands_ of fans -- were asked to walk through metal detectors before being allowed to enter the premises. He had done everything except stand on his head to make sure that she was as safe as she could possibly be.

He had been silent for quite some time and Rogue knew that meant he was about to let her have her way. Turning, she started to walk back to her dressing room when one of the guards blocked her path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked her.

She raised an eyebrow at the question and looked the man over. He wasn't one of the newly hired guards, but neither was he one of those that frequently escorted her around. Apparently he knew nothing of her temper.

"Sugah, you've got two seconds ta get yoahself outta mah way before Ah rip yoah foot off an' use it ta beat you upside th' head," she bit out acidly, staring him down.

For a second it appeared as if the man was going to stand his ground. But the look Rogue was pelting him with was enough to knock some sense into him and he stepped aside.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed and ready backstage, waiting for the band to strike up the music. Logan and his team had cleared out the entire area of any unnecessary personnel, and members of security were strategically positioned around the stage.

"No one, but no one, is gonna get through, darlin'," Logan had assured her.

Back in the corridor, when she was trying to convince the others to let her perform, she had been so sure she could do it. Now she wasn't so certain. It was normal for her to feel nervous before a show, but right at that moment, she felt like she was going to pass out.

"You all right, kid?" Guido asked from beside her.

"Yeah, sugah, Ah'm fine." Even she wasn't convinced by her words.

"We got ya covered, 'kay? A dozen guys on this side of the stage alone. When Logan sets his sights on something, he doesn't mess around."

"That's fo' sure."

"It's time, _liebling,"_ Kurt announced, approaching them. A look of concern crossed his face. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? We can still cancel the show."

She shook her head as she adjusted the microphone/headset that allowed her free use of her hands and arms. "No, Ah'm ready."

Kurt nodded and then spoke into a similar headset, informing the rest of crew that they were about to begin. Moments later, the band's first introductory notes came booming out of the speakers, causing the audience to cry out in expectation. Just before she mounted the stairs that lead up to the stage, Kurt grabbed her arm and leaned in close to her. Yelling into her ear to be heard over the music, he said, "We can stop anytime. If something doesn't feel right, we can get you out of here."

She managed to produce a weak smile for her brother and kissed him quickly on the cheek before making her way onto the stage. Once there, she stayed in the shadows, waiting for her cue and watching her dancers warm up the crowd. The sight before her was both familiar and alien. She felt at home in front of the ocean of people, just as she always had. And yet tonight, it felt different. Like an old pair of shoes that don't quite fit anymore. In that moment, she realized that she truly hated her stalker for taking away the pure joy and pleasure that she always felt when she was onstage.

Stepping out of the wings and into the intense heat of the stage lights, she heard the audience's roar of approval as they caught sight of her. The sound was overwhelming, to say the least. It crashed around her like an unrelenting tidal wave. And she loved it! It invigorated her; gave her energy, and soon she was caught up in the adrenaline rush of performing. She focused her mind on the complex series of dance routines, as well as on the intricate array of melodic notes that accompanied each song. The amount of concentration required of her was just enough to take her mind off any possible danger of being so exposed.

It wasn't until halfway through the show that her concentration began to falter. She was alone onstage, settled on top of a tall stool, and running through a chain of ballads. Motion, just off the stage to her left, captured her attention. When she turned her head in that direction, she saw nothing but dark shadows. But after a few more seconds of scrutiny, the darkness seemed to move with a life of its own, taking shape in the figure of a man. Panic seized her as she ended the drawn-out note she was holding. Her eyes were locked onto the dim corner of the stage, and she half-expected the stalker to come rushing toward her like a bat out of hell.

The movement came again and she could hear her heart pounding in anticipation. This time she could see something shining in the dark.

_Oh mah God! Does he have a gun?_ she thought in terror.

The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of light, the laminated card around his neck gleaming in the brightness. She breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the familiar face of one of her crew.

_Gettin' a li'l jumpy, girl,_ she scolded herself.

Breaking out of her thoughts, she noted that her band had gone completely silent, and that the cheers from the crowd had diminished somewhat as well. She suddenly realized that the musicians were waiting for her to end the ten-second interval of silence that was planned for the song they were currently in the middle of. Gathering herself together, she belted out the appropriate note and continued on with her performance. Three beats later, the music once again blared from the sound system in a near-earsplitting fashion.

Kurt approached her once she was backstage. They were in between sets and she was going through yet another one of her wardrobe 'quick changes' with the help of her three assistants.

"What happened out there?" he asked, stepping out of the way as one of the assistants moved to velcro the seams of her pants together. "You waited a full thirty seconds before giving the band their cue to continue."

"Ev'rythin's fine, Kurt."

"Rogue, did you see something? Ending the show wouldn't be a -- "

"No," she declared firmly. "We finish this."

She was back onstage before he could say anything more.

- oOo -

The next day, she was dressed and downstairs before six a.m., prepared to hop on her early morning flight to Los Angeles to meet Remy. The rest of the show the night before had gone on without incident. She even gave a short, impromptu speech thanking the fans for their love and support throughout the duration of the tour. Then Logan had rushed her out of there in a blur of orders and snappish comments to anyone who got in their way. They had made it home in record time with the way Logan was pressuring Sam to drive.

Rogue entered the kitchen where she knew the rest of the household would be gathered at such an early hour. "Mornin', all," she greeted the occupants of the room.

Logan and Guido were seated at the breakfast table, drinking coffee -- spiked with some form of alcohol, she was sure -- and splitting the newspaper between themselves. Sam was in front of the refrigerator, pulling out bacon, eggs, sausage and any other breakfast food he could find. Rosie was preoccupied at the stove, and from the looks of it, in the process of cooking enough food to feed a third world country.

"You boys aren't gonna take hours ta eat, are ya?" she asked, pouring herself some coffee. "We got an early flight t'day."

The pages in Logan's hand rustled noisily. "Where ya plannin' on goin'?"

She stared at him in surprise as she took a seat across from them. "To L.A. Th' results from th' paternity test are bein' released t'day, remember?"

Guido abruptly picked up his coffee mug and transferred to one of the stools beside the large island in the center of the kitchen.

Logan looked up. "Somethin' wrong, Guido?"

"Don't wanna accidentally get hit in the face with that mug she's holding when you tell her she ain't going anywhere," he replied. "That coffee's hot, y'know."

She shot Logan a venomous look. "What do ya mean Ah ain't goin' anywhere?" she demanded.

"You ferget what happened last night, darlin'?" he asked, setting the newspaper down.

"So? That was last night -- "

"And this is the next mornin', an' the threat's still out there." He took a long sip of his coffee. "I'm takin' you up north, away from the city, while the police hunt fer this guy."

"What?!" She stared wide-eyed at him. "Yoah sendin' me inta exile?!"

"Stop bein' so dramatic, kid. It ain't exile."

"An' what exactly would _you_ call it?" She shot out of her seat and placed her hands on the tabletop, leaning menacingly toward Logan. "You ain't draggin' me up ta Canada, mistah." Her voice was deathly serene.

He met her unflinching gaze with an arrogance that rivaled her own. "I ain't givin' you a choice this time."

"How dare you!" she spat out, her eyes flashing. "How dare you try an' dictate mah life!"

"This isn't about dictatin' yer life. This is about keepin' you safe." He rose to his feet and the two squared off against each other. "I relented an' gave inta ya last night when you wanted ta perform, an' we were lucky; nothin' happened. But I'm not about ta try an' test that luck a second time. Yer tour is over, Rogue; no more company transportation 'til the next one. If you fly ta L.A. now, it's gonna be on a commercial flight."

"Ah don' see a problem -- "

"The _problem,"_ he explained, cutting her off, "is that everyone an' their mother can get onta a commercial flight, as long as they've got enough dough ta get a ticket. Security's too much o' a risk."

"We've flown commercial jus' fine before. Without anythin' happenin'."

"That was before this psycho." He calmly took his seat again, slinging one arm over the back the chair. "This afternoon I'm gonna go see an old friend who works fer the NYPD; give him the letters an' see what he can fish out. Then tomorrow we're headin' north 'til all this dies down."

"Ah'm not goin' ta Canada!"

"Rogue, we've done this dance twice already. We ain't goin' fer a third. Yer not flyin' out west."

"Ah _am_ goin' ta see Remy an' there's nothin' you can do about it," she declared defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He reached to the counter behind him for the cordless phone and held it out to her. "Call Gumbo up an' tell him you got another letter. Once he hears about it, he won't want ya goin' out there either." When she didn't move to take it, he began to dial. "Fine. Call him myself then."

She snatched the device away from him. "You are _not_ goin' ta tell him anythin'!" she snapped. Looking around the room, she addressed the other occupants as well, "None o' you will."

Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Keepin' secrets again, darlin'? Thought ya learned yer lesson already."

"_Ah'll_ be th' one ta tell him," she retorted, although she knew she was lying. She had no intention of telling Remy about the third letter, just as she had no intention of exiling herself to the wilds of Canada. "Ah'll tell him when Ah see him later," she added pointedly.

"Yer gettin' on my last nerve, girl," Logan growled.

Realizing that the conversation was going nowhere, she tried a different tactic: one that usually got her what she wanted. Although she hated manipulating people, she could see no other means of getting what she needed. She knew that Logan had a soft spot for her in a little sister sort of way. When she played her cards right, she could twist him around her little finger more times than a slinky.

"Ah'm not gonna hide up in Canada," she repeated, slipping back into her chair. Her voice soften dramatically when she added, "Ah need ta go ta L.A. _Today."_ He opened his mouth to retort, but she stopped him. "This isn't jus' a case o' wantin' ta see mah boyfriend, Logan. It's about bein' there fo' someone Ah really care fo'. Wantin' ta honor mah love fo' Remy by standin' by him when he needs me." If there was one thing Logan believed in, it was honoring the people you loved and respected. She knew this, and she used it to her full advantage. Raising her eyes to his, she forced a few tears to well up. "Please try ta understand." Her voice quivered ever so slightly.

"Dammit, darlin'," Logan cursed, running a hand over his face in frustration. When it came to matching tempers with her, he had no problem. He could easily meet her glare for glare. When it came to her stubbornness, she had learned from the master. But if there was one thing he absolutely could _not_ stand to see, it was her tears.

The first time he had ever seen her crying was the morning after she had broken up with that southern sap, Cody. The boy had crushed her heart good and she'd spent nearly a month walking around bawling her eyes out after that. In that span of time, Logan had bent over backwards, trying to revive the carefree, fun-loving attitude that she'd always possessed. He even had gone so far as to let her drive his beloved motorcycle around the city -- at a break-neck speed, no less -- just to see the smile return to her face.

"It's only one day," continued Rogue, feeling that her words were breaking him down. "If yoah still worried 'bout th' security on a commercial plane, Karen could charter a private one. It'll mean pullin' some major strings on such short notice, but then again, what else are Momma's connections for?"

He cursed again under his breath; a string of words that she couldn't quite make out, but was sure didn't have a pleasant meaning. "One day," he bit out finally, emphasizing the point with a finger. "One day ta square out the Cajun's lawsuit an' then it's straight back here. Do you understand me?" He waited for her to nod and then continued, "Tomorrow mornin' we're goin' up north an' I don' wanna hear any more squawkin' about it."

"Thank you, Logan," she said sincerely.

He grunted in response and then turned to Guido. "Take half a dozen or so o' the crew with you, jus' ta be sure."

Rogue raised her head at that statement. "Yoah not comin' with us?"

"I told ya, darlin', I have ta meet an old friend 'bout the letters."

"Is that a good idea, sugah? Goin' ta th' police aftah sayin' we couldn't afford th' media frenzy that would follow?"

"Well, that idea was squashed when yer mother held that press conference ta let everyone know 'bout you an' the Cajun. Told her it was a bad idea. Press has been sniffin' 'round ya, lookin' fer a bone like the jackals they are." He rose from the table and made his way over to the sink where he deposited his coffee mug. "But keepin' the letters outta the papers is still a priority. If this guy knows the police are lookin' fer him, he might get desperate, maybe try somethin' stupid." He turned back to look at her. "Cassidy's a good man. I can trust him ta keep this under wraps." He looked up at the clock suspended on the far wall. "Better get a move on, kid, yer gonna be late. Have Karen charter that plane," he called over his shoulder as he exited the kitchen.

She thanked Rosie as the older woman handed her a plate full of food. "Eat up, guys," she told Sam and Guido. "We've got a plane ta catch."

- oOo -

"Remy, will you please stop pacing?" Matt Murdock requested of his client. "It's very distracting."

The two men, plus Matt's legal assistant, had been waiting in the conference room at the law offices of Levinson and Montgomery for nearly fifteen minutes. There was no sign of the opposing counsel or their client, neither was there any sign of Rogue who was also supposed to meet them there. The wait was starting to weigh on Remy's nerves.

"No offense meant, _mon ami,"_ the young singer replied, "but how do you know 'm pacin'? Ya blind."

"Yes, blind, not deaf. I can hear you burning a hole in the floor. Would you take a seat, please? We're early. Everyone else will be here soon." A few moments later, he heard Remy pull out the chair to his right.

"Jus' wan' get dis over wit', y'know? So I c'n get home an' start workin' again." He grinned wryly. "Actu'lly seems like a waste o' time, comin' all dis way out t'California jus' so dey c'n say it isn' m'baby. Couldn' dey jus' call on de phone?"

"Well, this shouldn't take long," Matt said with considerable confidence. "Once the results of the paternity test show that you're not the father, we can put this lawsuit behind us."

Although his lawyer couldn't see the gesture, Remy nodded. He turned his attention to the enormous window just beyond the head of the table. In the distance he could make out the crystal blue waters of the Santa Monica Bay. It was a far cry from the marshy bayous of Louisiana but it was a welcoming sight nonetheless. Even though he was a city boy through and through, he still enjoyed the peacefulness that came from looking at a beautiful span of nature. It helped to soothe the uneasiness he was feeling at the moment on account of being, as he thought of it, 'jinxed by the law.'

Growing up as a child, Remy had developed a wariness of anyone working for the justice system, be it police or lawyers. On more than one occasion, he had seen his fellow street urchins wrongly accused of various crimes and then punished accordingly, all for something they didn't do. Remy's faith in 'justice' had been tainted long ago.

Staring out into the horizon, his mind gradually turned to thoughts of Rogue. The night before had been her last day of touring. He was glad that she would finally be out of the limelight for a while, and hopefully safe from the prying eyes of her stalker.

She had spent three days with him in New Orleans before returning to her tour. In that time, they had hardly left his bedroom, much less the estate grounds. It had been like a short respite of calm for the both of them in the middle of twin troubles. One of those troubles would be over with in less than an hour, which would give them the time and focus to deal with the second.

Remy turned at the sound of the door opening. Rogue stood in the threshold with Guido directly behind her, a soft smile playing on her lips. He rose from his place at the conference table and went to meet her, immediately wrapping her into a tight embrace. Without saying a word, he led her to where Matt was already standing, having heard the newcomers' arrival.

"_Chère,_ you 'member Matt."

"O' course." She took the attorney's hand and shook it warmly. "A pleasure ta see you again, Matt."

"Rogue." A smile of greeting appeared on his face. "It's good to see you as well. How was your flight?" he asked conversationally.

Remy had pulled out a seat for her, which she accepted gratefully. "It was nice. Although we did get delayed a li'l bit."

"Dose are commercial flights f'r ya," Remy commented, returning to his chair in between the two. "Always delayed f'r one reason or another."

"Actu'lly, sugah, we flew private."

Mildly curious, Remy inquired, "_Pourquoi?_ [Why?]"

"Logan insisted," she responded vaguely.

Now his curiosity was turning into concern. If Logan had insisted on chartering a private plane there had to be a good reason for it. But before he could investigate the matter any further, the door to the conference room opened once again. Both Matt and Remy stood to greet the man and woman who entered the room.

Rogue's complete attention was on the four-months-pregnant woman who took a seat across from them. _So this is th' one's who's causin' all th' ruckus,_ she thought to herself. The other woman was shorter than her own five feet, eight inches, with straight, brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. She was younger looking than Rogue had expected, barely more than a child herself. And yet here she was, creating a worldwide scandal better than anyone twice her age. _Th' hussy,_ she shot at the woman silently, narrowing her eyes.

As if hearing the mental insult, Genevieve turned to look at her, and the two women locked gazes. Rogue wasn't exactly sure what it was but she felt a distinct chill run through her body as she stared into the woman's brown eyes. She was grateful to break the gaze when the prosecuting attorney cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, gentlemen," Barry Levinson began. "I was under the impression that this meeting was going to be a _private_ affair." He pointedly indicated both Rogue and Guido.

"I asked dem t'be here, _homme,"_ Remy returned smoothly. "You don' like it, ya c'n sue me... again."

Levinson nodded curtly and retrieved several document folders from his briefcase. "Then let's begin, shall we?" He handed one of the folders to Matt. "On the first of this month, blood samples were taken from both Mr. Remy LeBeau and Ms. Genevieve Darceneaux. These samples were then submitted to the laboratories at Muir Genetics for paternity testing." He paused to consult the notes before him. "The testing was conducted under the supervision of one Dr. Moira McTaggert who is a specialist in -- "

"With all due respect, counselor," Matt cut in, "Let's dispense with the formalities and just cut to the chase."

"Very well, then. The folder I handed to you is a copy of the results from the laboratory. Now, the first few pages are simply background information on Mr. LeBeau and Ms. Darceneaux, as well as a brief explanation of the procedure that was performed. The last page, however," he flipped through several sheets of paper until he finally settled on one, "are the results from the testing. And as you can plainly see, they prove that Mr. LeBeau _is_ the father of Ms. Darceneaux's baby."

----

What? What?! But Remy said he didn't sleep with her! How can he be the father if he didn't sleep with her? He wouldn't lie to Rogue! ... would he?


	12. Loyalty

**Disclaimer: **The stinking disclaimer says that Marvel owns all these characters and that I can't have any. I'm gonna go wash its mouth out with soap. It's got one filthy pie hole!

**A/N: **Okay, who's up for another installment of insanity? And another dose of my nonsensical ramblings!

~ Melissa, V, Lucky439, T., Storm13, ilovetidus -- Thanks for reviewing! It was nice to see your names on the Review Board!

~ Jean1 -- Haven't seen your name in a while; good to know you're still reading! Thanks for sharing your ideas on the story!

~ Chrissy -- Haha! : ) I get the feeling that you don't like Remy all that much… ; )

~ Marvel -- Aww! How sweet! You'd risk incarceration from stealing just to read the next chapter! I am _so_ moved! *turns to wipe tear* ; )

~ missy42 -- Kewl! I've been knighted!!! Don't I feel special? Though, could I be a _Dame Mistress of the Cliffhanger_ instead? 'Cause I don't think I'd pass for a guy with these hips! ; )

~ Broadway and Sarah -- I was wondering when someone would notice that! Should have known it would've been you two. Those movie-identifying abilities of yours are quite powerful, young Jedis. Be careful it doesn't tempt you to the Dark Side! When I first thought of doing this story, I needed _something_ to use as reference, and I remembered the stalking element in "The Bodyguard." But don't worry, I won't be so predictable as to use the same ending for this story. But do expect to see some 'borrowed' ideas from that movie! Btw, not that I'm an expert on the French language or anything, but I pronounce Darceneaux as Dar-sen-oh. If I've got it wrong and someone knows the correct pronunciation, I would surely appreciate some enlightenment!  
p.s. Did you try smelling salts on Sarah after she lost consciousness? I hear that work wonders for that type of thing! ; )

* Okay, favor-asking time! I noticed that this story is only so many reviews shy of making the 100-review mark. I was hoping that we could pass that point before the next chapter comes. So I'm begging everyone who's reading -- yes, begging is SO not beneath me at this point -- to drop a review after you're done. It doesn't have to be long. You could just say hi, tell me what you like about the story or that you hate it more than going to the dentist, share some of your ideas on what's happening, describe in detail when your last bowel movement was, anything under the sun! It doesn't matter! I just wanna reach a hundred -- maybe more! Thanks to everyone! Now, shoo! Go read!

**CHAPTER 12  
Loyalty**

"You happy now, _chère?_ You havin' fun yet?"

Remy LeBeau's voice was barely more than a whisper but it held more venom than the most poisonous of snakes. He directed his statement to the woman seated across from him, supposedly pregnant with his baby.

Genevieve's brown eyes locked with his. "Do you think this is fun for me, Remy? Do you think that I _want_ to be alone and pregnant with your child?"

His own eyes narrowed at her statement, but he remained silent.

"I did not ask for you to leave me after making love to me that night," she continued, never taking her gaze off him. Her hand moved protectively to her stomach. "This is _your_ child, Remy. You can no longer deny that."

"Enough!" He shot to his feet in anger. "We're leavin'. Now." Reaching down, he cupped his hand around Rogue's elbow and urged her to rise.

Genevieve's attorney rose as well. "This meeting is far from over, Mr. LeBeau."

"It is f'r me, _m'sieu,"_ replied Remy, just before exiting the conference room. He met Hank at the door, and vaguely noted that Rogue was surrounded by Guido and two other members of her security team. Had he not been preoccupied with the events that had just taken place, he would have questioned the need for the extra bodyguards.

"Damien suggests we go out through the parking garage," Hank reported once the group had filed into the elevator. "Somehow the media got wind of the test results being released today. They've set up camp in front of the building."

Remy nodded and then turned to his lawyer. "What happens now?"

"They take us to court, using the results from the paternity test as evidence."

"An' what are m'chances?"

"I honestly don't know," Matt answered.

Inwardly, Remy cursed. He then shifted his attention to the woman who stood beside him. Rogue had been strangely silent throughout the entire meeting. Slipping his hand into hers, he squeezed it gently. When she didn't return the affectionate gesture, he tried to catch her gaze.

"_Chère?"_

The elevator doors slid open before she had a chance to answer. Their group was abruptly assaulted by flashing camera bulbs and blinding video lights aimed straight at them. Questions were thrown their way from all directions, with speeds that could rival any high-powered missile.

"Remy! Is it true that you are the father of Ms. Darceneaux's baby?"

"What were the results of the paternity test?"

"Rogue, how do you feel about Remy screwing around behind your back?"

"Are the two of you still a couple?"

"How many more children have you fathered that the public doesn't know about?"

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, that's enough," Matt ordered, as they followed two of the bodyguards through the crowd. "We have no comment at this time. Thank you."

The media, however, had no intention of backing off on such an in-demand story. They pressed forward even further, making the route to the singers' respective vehicles difficult.

Remy leaned in close to Rogue's ear and whispered, "Hotel," just before Guido and the rest of her team swept her into a darkly-tinted van. Moments later, he jumped into his own awaiting vehicle.

"They're sneaky little shutterbugs, I'll give them that," Hank commented as they pulled out of the building. "And tenacious at that."

Remy didn't reply. Instead, he asked the driver to take them back to the hotel where he planned to rendezvous once again with Rogue.

- oOo -

Logan walked into the homicide division of the New York City Police Department, intent on speaking with one of the detectives who worked there. He scanned the chaotic offices for a specific face, and was soon walking over to a desk in the middle of the floor.

"Been a while, Irish," he greeted the red-haired man behind the desk. He was one of the few men Logan truly trusted. "These flatfoots workin' ya too hard?"

Sean Cassidy lifted his head from the pile of paperwork before him. "Well, bless me sainted mother, if it isn't the infamous Logan." He grinned and rose to shake the other man's hand. "'Tis good t'see ye again, man. Yuir right, it _has_ been a while. What brings ye t'this neck o' the woods?"

"Li'l bit o' business, actually. Can we talk? In private?" added Logan, looking about the room cautiously, as if expecting a spy to be lurking around the corner.

"O' course. Follow me." Sean led him to an unoccupied interrogation room at the farthest end of the office. "Can I get ye some coffee?" he asked once they were safely inside.

Logan shook his head. "I'm good." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "How was yer vacation back home? You were away fer a long time."

"Four months," Sean confirmed, taking the seat opposite his friend with a deep sigh. "Though I dinnae think 'twas much o' a vacation. I had t'play lord and master o' Cassidy Keep the entire time." He leaned back in his chair. "Still, 'twas probably better than stayin' here."

"Trouble on the home front?"

Sean nodded. "Internal Affairs has been investigatin' several cases o' officers on the take. Acceptin' bribes an' such. 'Tis gotten everyone here on edge."

"I.A.'s doin' some house cleanin', huh?"

"Aye, it would seem so. But what about ye, boyo? How fairs that high-profile job o' yuirs?"

"Not too good, actually." Logan pulled out a large manila envelope. "Jus' 'tween you an' me?"

"O' course."

He slid the envelope across the table and waited until Sean had extracted the letters from within. "Kid's been gettin' those. First one came 'bout three an' a half months ago, along with a necklace. Second one, a week later. The last one was delivered with some flowers jus' before she went on stage last night."

The police detective examined the papers in his hand. "Any idea who could be sendin' them t'her? Disgruntled employee? Old boyfriend?"

"Kid's a peach. She's everyone's li'l darlin'. Can't imagine anyone holdin' a grudge 'gainst her." Logan watched as Sean took out a small notebook from his back pocket and began taking notes. "A dancer friend o' hers said that the woman who delivered the flowers introduced herself as Emma Frost."

Sean jotted the name down. "I'll run a background check on her, see what comes up."

Reaching over, Logan tapped one of the letters. "What 'bout that mental patient? The one that escaped?"

"Haller? It could be him. But I cannae be sure; I'm not in charge o' that case. I dinnae know the specifics."

"I'm callin' in a favor, Irish. I need ya ta look inta this. Fish around a li'l an' see what you can find." Logan stood to leave. "One more thing, I wanna keep this quiet. Yer the only one that knows 'side from us. Can't let the press find out 'bout this."

"Aye, I'll see what I can do."

"Much obliged, Sean. I'd 'ppreciate it if ya kept me posted."

- oOo -

"How ya doin', kid?" Guido asked from the seat beside her.

They were currently en route to Remy's hotel, but were having some difficulty losing the paparazzi that had been following them since leaving the law offices of Levinson and Montgomery. The short drive that should have taken only twenty minutes was slowly dragging out into an hour.

At Guido's question, Rogue peered out the window. How did she respond to that? How was she supposed to answer that when she herself wasn't really sure? How _was _she doing? What were the emotions running through her head? Love? Hate? Betrayal?

… _after making love to me…_

Genevieve's words haunted her, stabbed at her heart like a hot poker through the snow. But for the life of her, she couldn't think of anything else. They replayed themselves over and over in her mind, refusing to leave like an unwanted guest who's overstayed his welcome.

… _your child… can no longer deny that…_

Wordlessly, Rogue pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. "Operator," she said once someone answered, "Ah'd like ta be connected ta Muir Genetics, please."

"Please stay on the line, ma'am."

As the soft elevator music played into her ear, Rogue's eyes wandered around the interior of the rented van. All five of her bodyguards -- plus Sam, who was driving -- pretended to occupy themselves with something other than eavesdropping on her telephone conversation. It would be impossible for them _not_ to overhear, considering the close confines of the vehicle, but at the moment, she was beyond caring.

"Thank you for calling Muir Genetics. Good afternoon, my name is April. How may I help you?" a sunny voice asked.

"Moira MacTaggert's office, please."

"One moment, ma'am."

The awful 'on-hold' music started up again, grating on her nerves with its mellow cheerfulness.

"Good afternoon. Dr. MacTaggert's office."

"I'd like t'speak wit' Dr. MacTaggert, please," Rogue requested, mimicking Remy's Cajun accent.

"May I know who's calling?" the secretary inquired pleasantly.

"Dis is Mercy LeBeau. I'm de sister-in-law o' one o' ya clients."

"Yes, of course. One moment, Mrs. LeBeau, I'll see if the doctor is available."

Thankfully, silence met Rogue's ears as the other side of the line was muted. She was sure she'd break down and cry if she'd been made to sit through another round of painfully irritating elevator music.

"Moira MacTaggert speakin'," a Scottish-accented voice filtered in through the receiver.

"Dr. MacTaggert, m'name is Mercy LeBeau. I believe ya office performed a paternity test f'r m'brother-in-law recently." Beside her, Guido cocked an eyebrow, which Rogue promptly ignored.

"I'm afraid I cannae give y' any information regardin' this case without the proper confirmation," Moira stated. "Do y' have the account number?"

Rogue reached over to retrieve the folder that Attorney Levinson had handed to them in his office. Leafing through the pages, she found the number at the top of the last page and dutifully recited it through the telephone.

"Very well," Moira continued. "Now then, what can I help y' with?"

"How accurate are ya tests?"

"They are nearly foolproof, with only a point-zero-one margin o' error."

"Have ya ever been wrong?"

"Only once. An' that was a special circumstance. The putative father bein' tested was the identical twin o' the actual father. In that case, there was no way o' distinguishin' between the two men's DNA."

"What 'bout someone switchin' de blood samples?"

"That is nae possible, I can assure ye. Our qualified technicians carefully label an' catalog all procedures bein' performed in the laboratories." Rogue heard the distinct sound of typing on a keyboard. "I am lookin' at yuir brother-in-law's account now, Mrs. LeBeau. Considerin' the nature o' this case an' the public status o' the person involved, 'twas given special attention by our company. Mr. LeBeau's blood sample was delivered t' us by his own lawyer, a Mr. Matthew Murdock, an' then immediately sent t' the lab for processing. I supervised the procedure myself."

"But, mah -- " Rogue caught herself before she reverted back to her natural southern drawl. "M'brother-in-law _swore_ t'me dat he wasn't de father."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. LeBeau," said Moira sympathetically. "But 'tis nae possible for the samples t' have been tampered with or the test results altered. All procedures much be cleared an' authorized by me before they are released t' our clients. I am afraid it seems yuir brother-in-law lied t' ye."

Lied. It was a bitter word to swallow for Rogue. One that caught in her throat and refused to go down easily.

"T-thank you f'r ya time, Dr. MacTaggert," she mumbled into the phone before hitting the 'End' button. She could feel hot tears sting in the back of her eyes, threatening to cascade down her skin if she didn't get them under control.

Her heart had been wrong. It had told her that Remy cheating on her was never a possibility, despite her mind's protests. It had sworn to her that she could trust him, trust that he loved her and would _never_ hurt her. But her heart had lied. Just as easily as he had done.

"Sam," she called out, turning her head toward the window as she felt the first wave of tears fall. "Head fo' th' airport. Ah… Ah wanna go home."

----

~ See pretty blue button in corner? Click and money will pour out of your computer. I swear! Try it! ; )


	13. Missing

**Disclaimer: **Okay, after I washed the disclaimer's mouth out with soap, it retaliated and came at me with laundry detergent. Apparently I wasn't as 'clothesline fresh' as it wanted me to be.

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You pretty, pretty people! Not only did you guys hit the 100 mark, but you went over it as well! Both the story and I are deeply appreciative of your efforts! The next goal? Two hundred! Just kidding. This fic won't last _that_ much longer... I hope. ; )

Umm, with regards to the money-dispensing machine, I caught my muse making off with most of the cash. He was later spotted in Barbados with his girlfriend, showering her with gifts he can't afford -- at least not on his salary. Go figure. He uses company funds to take _personal_ vacations. Hey, wait a sec. Why don't I get to do that?!

~ Christy S., ilovetidus -- Whether it was intentional or by accident, thank you for leaving multiple reviews. It pushed the review count that much higher! : )

~ Charisma -- I think that was back in Chapter 3. *takes a few moments to actually go back and check.* (Y'know it's a bad sign when the author is getting the chapters mixed up. Ha! No, I was right, it _was_ Chapter 3.) Anyway, we know that it wasn't Remy because _his_ surprise for Rogue was the room full of rose petals. Damn, that Cajun is sweet…

~ missy42 -- I stand corrected then, and humbly accept the title of _Sir Master of the Cliffhanger._ Wait a minute, I don't have to go out and fight dragons, do I? 'Cause dragon hunting would seriously cut into my writing time! p.s. Oh, so _that's_ why Remy hates Sinister so much! The people at Marvel are just getting it all wrong then. ; )

~ Disturbed Courtney -- Yup, that's right. This is my first fic in seven years. *watches in amusement as people bring out calculators and try to figure out my age.* I used to write fics when I was younger, but believe me they're not worth the time of day. The only thing that keeps me from destroying them is the fact that they serve as guidelines of what NOT to do. ; )

~ BJ, Psy, V, T., JADEOBLUE, snikter, Rupeshwari, ishandahalf, dragonseizer, Magnolia Belle, & whoever left the nameless review (I'm sure you know who you are! : ) -- I know I said it earlier already, but thank you again for taking the time to review. If I could stop my muse from stealing and shower you all with money, I would. ; )

* Okay, quick note: I noticed I've been getting into the bad habit of ending too many chapters in cliffhangers. So I promise from now on, I'll _try_ to cut back on them -- 'try' being the operative word here. Hope to see you all on the Review Board! : )

**CHAPTER 13  
Missing**

"Rachel Lynn Summers, if you don't stop playing with that, we're marching home right this minute instead of visiting Daddy."

Jean and her daughter were standing in front of the twin elevators in X-Gene Records' New York building, waiting for the chance to travel up to Scott's office.

At her mother's stern warning, Rachel removed her fingers from the sand in the ashtray, only to replace them once again as she looked away.

The sound of an office door opening caused Jean to turn her head to the left. While she watched, Remy LeBeau and two of his bodyguards emerged from the threshold and slowly made their way to the elevators.

A flash of anger sparked in Jean's gut. She didn't know LeBeau personally, but what she heard from the grapevine was enough to convince her that he wasn't someone she wanted to get to know. Especially not with the latest buzz that had been circulating in the news.

Remy lifted his gaze and caught sight of them near the elevator. "Jean," he greeted, purposefully striding over and giving her a friendly smile.

The smile didn't quite reach his eyes though, and she couldn't help but think that there was something bothering him. _Probably the fact that he got caught screwing around on Dixie,_ she thought. Nonetheless, she forced herself to be polite, and mustered up a lukewarm smile in return.

"We've never been formally introduced, _chère,"_ he continued, stopping a short distance from her. "But 'm -- "

"Yes, I know who you are," she interrupted.

Remy was taken aback by the chill in her voice. She was speaking to him for civility's sake, but had she been given a choice, she probably would have slapped him across the face. _An' none too lightly neither, judgin' from de fire in her eyes._ Not that he could blame her; not with everything that the media was saying about him.

He chose to turn his attention to the curious sixteen-month-old who had ceased her ashtray artwork long enough to stare at him openly. Bending to her level and favoring her with a charming grin, he said, "_Bonjour, petite._ Ya must be Rachel, _non?_ Ya _Tante_ Dixie talks 'bout ya all de time."

"Ixie?" she asked eagerly, as if expecting her godmother to appear from behind Remy's back.

Jean interjected before he could say more. "Is there anything I can help you with, Remy?" She refused to be taken over by his charismatic demeanor. In her book, he already had one strike against him when he used the nickname only she, Ororo or Rachel used for Rogue.

He straightened before answering. "_Oui._ Do you have a minute?"

"We were just on our way to have lunch with Scott," she replied, picking her daughter up and settling her against her hip.

"Dis won' take long, I promise." He gestured down the corridor to the office they had just come out of. "I'd rather not have de conversation out here," he explained.

She nodded before preceding him to the designated office door. Remy rapped on the wood soundly, and then entered without waiting for an answer.

"Mark, c'n we borrow ya conference room f'r a bit?" he asked the man sitting behind one of the numerous desks in the large office space.

Mark was a short, blonde man with thick glasses that looked reminiscent of an era gone by. "Sure thing, Remy. Just make sure you lock up when you're through. I'm heading out for lunch." He nodded politely when he caught sight of the vice president's wife. "Mrs. Summers."

"I didn't know you were on such friendly terms with the legal department," she commented when the three of them had entered the conference room, leaving the bodyguards outside the door.

"Label's been workin' overtime wit' me lately," he responded lightly, taking a seat only after both she and Rachel had done so. "It's hard work diggin' ya name out o' six feet o' mud."

A silence fell over them, punctuated only be the soft ticking of the clock on the far wall. Personality-wise, they had little in common, other than both having some form of a relationship with Rogue. Small talk was a fruitless gesture, Jean realized, and she quickly decided to end the civil pleasantries.

"You don't deserve her." Her voice was quiet, and yet painfully blunt in its frankness.

Remy met her eyes squarely. Never skipping a beat, he said, "I know." He ran his hand through his russet locks. "When was de last time ya heard from her?"

She was not taken in by the brief expression of hurt that crossed his features. "I take it she isn't returning your calls, then. Can you really blame her? After everything that's happened in recent weeks? My suggestion to you, Remy, would be to give her some space. Let her think things through a bit."

"Is dat what you'd do, _chère,_ if someone told you dat another woman was havin' ya husband's baby? T'ink t'ings t'rough?"

"Initially, no." She leaned forward in her chair. "No woman alive receives that kind of news with any semblance of sanity. I think you're lucky she's simply refusing to take your calls. With Dixie's temper, I expected her to slice out a chunk of your hide. She'll probably keep to herself for a few days before she'll want to talk about anything."

"It's been two weeks." She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "When was de last time ya heard from her?" he asked again.

Jean stared at him blankly for a few moments, trying to digest what he had just told her. She knew that Rogue had a tendency to fly off the handle at first, but when she had a chance to cool down, she always waded through difficulties with a clear head. The longest it ever took her to calm her nerves was a day, maybe a day and a half at most. But letting two weeks go by without trying to resolve an issue was out of character for her. Her stubborn nature wouldn't allow it. And certainly not with someone as important to her as Remy was.

"Almost a month ago," she replied to his earlier question. "I called her to wish her good luck on the last leg of her tour."

"An' ya haven't heard from her since den?"

She shook her head.

"What 'bout 'Ro? Ya t'ink she coulda heard from her?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her." She was starting to get a bad feeling. "Have you tried talking to her family?"

"All three o' dem say dey don' know where she's gone."

Now Jean was really getting worried. "Even Raven? That's impossible! Raven _always_ knows where Dixie is."

"Well, it's one o' two t'ings den," he said. "Either she really don' know where her daughter is, or she jus' don' wan' tell me." He watched as Jean pulled out her cell phone. "Who ya callin'?"

"Logan," she answered, dialing. "After Raven, he's the next in line to know where she is."

"Won' do ya no good, _chère._ He's gone, too."

She looked up at him. "You mean Logan's with her?" She sighed in relief. "Well then, we're worrying for nothing. Logan will keep her out of trouble."

"If he's even wit' her."

Frowning, Jean asked, "What do you mean?"

"How c'n we be sure somet'in' didn' happen t'her? Last time I talked t'her, she was s'pposed t'meet me in m'hotel in L.A. Dat was two weeks ago."

She cocked an eyebrow. "This wouldn't have been immediately after finding out the results of the paternity test, would it?" When he didn't respond, she added, "I thought as much." She pushed back her chair and stood, bending to pick up Rachel out of her seat. "A piece of advice from one of her best friends: I think you should stay away from her. Rogue's been hurt too many times in her life as it is."

"I wouldn' hurt her, Jean."

She didn't comment, but turned to face him; her expression clearly revealing how she really felt. "You're probably a good man, Remy. Just not good enough for her." About to turn the door handle and exit the room, she suddenly inquired softly, "Is the child yours?"

Her question was met by silence until she raised her head to look at him. He was leaning back against the plush office chair, a blank expression across his face.

"Accordin' t'de test results, 'm de father." He hissed out the words as if they were burning his tongue, but it was enough confirmation for Jean. She left him without a backward glance.

- oOo -

"Dada!" Rachel cried as she and her mother entered the vice president's spacious corner office ten minutes later.

Scott rose from behind the desk to receive his daughter in his arms as she flung herself toward him. "Hiya, pumpkin. I missed you." He smiled over her shoulder at his wife. "Hi there, beautiful. I missed _you_ as well. Did you get stuck in traffic on the way over?"

Jean rested a hand on Rachel's back as she leaned forward and greeted her husband with a kiss. "No. Just ran into some stuff." She smiled weakly.

"'Some stuff'?" He sat down opposite Jean in the matching guest chairs fronting his desk, settling Rachel onto his lap. "Is something wrong back at the house?"

"No, nothing like that," she assured him, taking a deep breath. "We just met Mr. Remy LeBeau."

"Oh." Scott knew that she had a bad feeling about the Cajun singer. For some reason, she didn't trust him. When Rogue first told her about her relationship with the man, Jean had spent the entire afternoon telling Scott how wrong Remy seemed for her. And how she was sure he would hurt Rogue in the end. Scott was certain that it made Jean more miserable to have been right than wrong.

"He wanted to talk. About Dixie," she told him, reaching over to straighten Rachel's hair as best she could. The child seemed to have a special talent for mussing what had started out as a tidy appearance. "It seems he hasn't heard from her in two weeks."

"That's understandable, considering the circumstances."

She smiled at him. "My point exactly. I told him as much."

"And?"

"And I think he thinks it's something more than just her being angry with him. He said that Logan was gone as well, and I told him that if Logan was with Rogue then there really wasn't any reason to be worried. But he was still bothered. Almost as if he was…" she tried to think of an appropriate word, "…concerned of something happening to her."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." Jean sighed. "What could possibly happen to Rogue? She has security around her every hour of the day."

Scott watched as she began dialing on her cell. "What are you doing?"

"Calling 'Ro. Maybe she's heard from Dixie." She waited as the call was being put through. A few moments later, a voice came on the line. "'Ro? Honey, where are you?" She could hear wind rustling in the background.

"The Grand Canyon. Jeannie, you should be here; the view is absolutely breath taking."

"I'll book the next flight," quipped Jean. "Listen, 'Ro, I need to ask you something. When was the last time you talked to Dixie?"

"Not since her tour ended. Why? What has happened?" Ororo's voice suddenly filled with worry.

"Nothing," Jean quickly assured her. "Well, nothing yet. It just seems that our little southerner has gone slightly AWOL and no one seems to know where she is."

"I see," Ororo said, calming her voice considerably. "I heard about the situation with Remy a few days ago. I left a message for her but she has yet to return my call. Are we sure this isn't merely one of her 'thinking' expeditions?"

"If it is then it's lasted longer than usual." From atop her position on her father's lap, Rachel stretched out her small arms in an attempt to take the phone from her mother. "'Ro, hold on; there's someone here who wants to talk to you." She carefully placed the cell against her daughter's ear.

"Row-row!" the child exclaimed happily into the phone. A few seconds later, she giggled at something her godmother said. She then vigorously nodded her head, unaware of the fact that there was no way Ororo could see the gesture.

"All right, sweetie, say goodbye to Auntie 'Ro," Jean softly told her.

"Row-row, bye-bye."

Jean smiled as she pulled the cell away from Rachel and back to her own ear. "She kept nodding her head. What were you telling her?" She could hear the smile in her friend's voice as she answered.

"I asked her if she would like me to bring home the gifts I bought for her on my last trip."

"Ororo, no. Not more gifts! At the rate you two are going, we'll have to convert the guest room into a storage space for your presents alone!"

"What were the words Dixie used? 'Please and a half, Jeannie!' I'm afraid it's out of your hands, my friend."

Jean chuckled. There were some things that would never change, she supposed. "Will you let me know if you hear from Rogue?" she requested, remembering her original intention for calling.

"Of course. And the same goes for you. Give my love to Scott."

"I will. Bye, 'Ro." Deep in thought, she depressed the 'End' button.

"She hasn't heard from Rogue either, huh?" asked Scott.

"No, she hasn't." She regarded her cell phone reflectively. "She sends you her love, though."

He reached over to squeeze his wife's knee. "Hey," he whispered softly, "I'm sure Rogue's okay. It's not as if someone would want to kidnap her or anything. Besides, like you said, Logan's probably with her, right?"

"Right." She mustered up a smile for both Scott and Rachel as she stood, pulling them up with her. Catching the little girl between them, she playfully planted a loving kiss onto her husband's lips. "Now, how about that lunch?"

- oOo -

_Inside mah head, th' silence was deafenin'. Th' thoughts that plagued me since we came up north two weeks ago fin'lly went away with th' acrid taste o' alcohol. Good stuff, too. Guido had some taste in liquor. Ah'd fo'gotten what it was called -- Ah'd know if Ah didn' have so much o' it in me -- but it was clear like water an' had a kick like a blow ta th' head. Ah wasn't drunk -- not yet, anyway. Ah would've liked ta be though. _

_We didn' tell anyone we were headin' up here. Only ones that did know were Sam an' Rosie, an' Ah made them swear not ta tell anyone where we were goin'. Not that they knew anythin' 'sides th' fact that we were somewhere in Canada. Rosie prob'ly cracked under Momma's interrogation by now. Not even a gov'ment spy was safe in Momma's hands. Fo' th' past week, Ah was half expectin' her ta come bargin' in on us, but Canada's a big country. Lot o' land ta search if ya didn' have a specific destination in mind. _

_We spent th' first week cleanin' up th' cabin an' buyin' th' necessary supplies at th' general store in th' next town ovah. Logan usually didn' keep his place all that tidy since he never brought guests up here. It was more o' a get-away house fo' him whenevah he felt th' need ta 're-connect' with nature. But th' cleanin' did me some good, Ah s'ppose. Kept me busy enough so that Ah wouldn't think 'bout things too much. _

_But th' past couple o' days were th' worst. There wasn't much ta do out here in th' middle o' nowhere. Logan didn' even think ta buy a TV, not that Ah'd watch if there was one handy. Ah didn' wanna haveta hear Remy's name on ev'ry othah program they were airin'. Bad enough that it was runnin' through ev'ry othah thought in mah head. _

_Speakin' o' mah head, it started ta pound as someone entered th' kitchen. Felt like Ah was whackin' mah noggin 'gainst th' table Ah was leanin' on with each step o' th' othah person's footfall. Guess th' alcohol wasn't workin' as good as Ah'd hoped. _

_Whoevah it was came ovah ta th' table an' picked up th' liquor bottle, sniffin' th' contents. Logan. He's th' only one Ah know who can sound disapprovin' without even doin' anythin'._

"Give me five more minutes, sugah," _Ah said, not even botherin' ta lift mah head from th' cool comfort o' th' table._ "By then Ah'll be drunk enough ta handle one o' yoah lectures 'bout not drinkin'."

_Ah heard him pull out a chair an' sit down._ "Ya drink all this by yerself, darlin'?"

_Ah knew he was holdin' up th' nearly empty bottle. Ah nodded in answer ta his question but still refused ta look at him._

"Well, least I taught ya how ta hold yer liquor. Most people would be singin' cabaret songs on tabletop with the amount o' alcohol you've had." _He pushed th' booze aside an' judgin' from th' soft thud Ah heard, rested his hands on th' table._ "C'mon, kid, get up from there."

_Ah raised mah head slowly, only 'cause anythin' faster would've made me vomit._ "So let's have it, Logan. What're th' pearls o' wisdom that yoah gonna bestow on me t'day?"

"Ya look like hell."

"Good one. Ah'll have ta remember that if evah someone wants me ta write a book."

"What're ya doin'? Drinkin' ain't yer thing."

"Maybe it should be," _Ah protested._ "Seems ta work jus' fine fo' othah folks."

"Yeah, an' that's why they're in twelve-step rehab programs an' not a successful recordin' artist." _He got up an' walked ovah ta th' refrigerator. Ah watched him pull out some bananas, honey, milk an' ice cream._ "You've been closed-lipped 'bout you an' the Cajun since we got here, an' the three o' us have been givin' you yer space. But enough is enough, Rogue. Ya have ta talk about it at some point." _He started throwin' ev'rythin' inta th' blender._

"Ah don' wanna think about it anymore, Logan. It hurts when Ah do."

"It'll hurt even more, an' fer a lot longer, if ya don' face it now." _He snapped th' lid ta th' blender shut._ "This might hurt yer head a bit."

_That was an understatement. Th' shrill whirlin' motion was shootin' through mah skull at a mile a minute. Felt like he was blendin' mah brain instead o' th' food. _

_Thankfully, it stopped a short while later. Logan poured his concoction inta two tall glasses an' set one down in front o' me, before settlin' back inta his chair._

"What's this for?" _Ah asked, eyein' th' thick, goopy mixture. It had a slight yellowish tinge ta it from th' bananas he'd thrown in._

"Fer yer hangover."

"Ah ain't drunk."

"The bananas will calm yer stomach," _he said, ignorin' mah comment alt'gether._ "That, an' the honey will bring up yer blood sugar levels. The milk is fer soothin' an' re-hydratin' yer system, an' the ice cream is fer thickness. Plus I know how much ya love ice cream." _He took a gulp o' his own milkshake, an' was in th' process o' wipin' his mouth when he saw me watchin' him._ "Will ya jus' drink it already? Ain't like I'm gonna poison ya or somethin'."

_Ah raised mah eyebrow at that statement, but swallowed anyway. Th' mixture slid down mah throat with ease, an' Ah haveta admit, it sure tasted good. Before Ah knew it, Ah finished half o' th' glass._

"So what's got ya all inna mood?"

_Ah snorted._ "Maybe you ain't heard, sugah, but there's a woman out there havin' th' baby o' th' man Ah'm in love with."

"An' yer fallin' apart 'cause o' that?"

_All Ah could do was gap at him. He was brushin' ev'rythin' off like it was nothin' special. It wasn't ev'ryday that a girl finds out her lover is cheatin' on her. An' got someone else pregnant ta boot!_

"Ah'd say that's a good 'nough reason _not_ ta feel quite so happy at th' moment."

"So ya got a bum hand. What, that's it? Yer jus' gonna fold without tryin' ta take the house?" _He leaned back in his chair._ "Thought ya had more brass than that, darlin'."

"Ah ain't that tipsy ta not notice when yoah usin' reverse psychology on me, Logan." _Ah took anothah gulp o' th' milkshake._ "Remy lied ta me," _Ah said softly, feelin' th' hurt build up in mah chest again._

"So? He ain't the first guy ta do so."

"Will you stop defendin' him! Whose side are ya on anyway?"

"I'm on yer side, kid. An' that means gettin' you outta this rut ya put yerself in. Keep goin'."

_Mah life felt like it was fallin' apart at th' seams an' here he was takin' it calmer than a bomb technician on th' job. Ah shook mah head in disbelief, but decided ta play along anyway._ "He told me that th' allegations weren't true. He said that he wasn't th' father. An' then three weeks later, th' tests came back positive." _Ah raised mah eyes ta Logan's, willin' him ta understand._ "Ah called th' lab. There's no way those results could have been tampered with." _Ah clamped mah hand around th' glass so tightly, mah knuckles paled._ "Ah don' know which hurts more: th' fact that he lied straight ta mah face, or that anothah woman is bearin' him a child."

_Fo' th' past two weeks, Ah'd been tryin' so hard ta keep all mah emotions in, but Ah couldn't do it anymore. Th' hurt an' th' tears got th' better o' me, an' Ah started shakin' all ovah. Logan came 'round th' table an' wrapped me in a brotherly hug, rubbin' mah back in an attempt ta calm me down. _

_Ah did eventu'lly. Aftah soakin' Logan's shirt right through. He did that a lot fo' me, Ah noticed; acted as mah 'tear-absorber.' He's seen me through Cody an' Rob an' ev'ry othah dysfunctional relationship Ah've evah had in mah life. Ah'd consider him one o' mah girlfriends if th' idea wouldn't bruise his male ego so much. _

_He looked down at me an' asked real soft like,_ "Do you love him?"

_Ah blew mah nose on th' tissue he held out fo' me._ "O' course," _Ah sniffled._ "Ah don' think Ah could evah stop. But mah head keeps goin' back ta that paternity test. How can ya love someone who would flat out lie ta you like that?"

"What's yer heart sayin', darlin'?"

_Ah sighed. In mah opinion, th' damn thing couldn't be trusted. It'd been wrong on more than one occasion. Safer jus' ta listen ta th' logical side o' mahself._ "It's sayin' that he wouldn't do anythin' ta hurt me. Not intentionally, at least."

_Ah felt him nod._ "That's what I thought. Shut that head o' yers up an' start listenin' ta yer heart." _He tilted mah head up an' made me look at him._ "The Cajun loves ya, kid. O' that I'm sure. Somethin' musta happened that night. Let him tell ya what it was; hear him out. All you've heard so far is that girl's side o' the story. He's bound ta have one, too." _He flexed th' fingers o' his right hand so that th' knuckles cracked._ "An' if his story is too half-baked ta be believable then I'll beat the livin' gumbo outta him."

_A li'l hiccup that was s'pposed ta be a laugh came outta mah mouth._ "Thank you, Logan," _Ah whispered, wrappin' mah arms around his waist an' huggin' him tightly._ "Yoah right. Ah haveta talk ta Remy an' straighten this whole mess out. Ah owe him that much."

"That's more like the spitfire I know." _He gently chucked me on th' chin._ "How's yer head feelin'? Still got the nausea?"

_Ah took a few seconds ta straighten an' see what mah body felt like. Th' poundin' in mah head had subsided an' Ah didn' feel quite so woozy anymore._ "Ah'll be damned. Looks like that sludge ya forced on me did th' trick."

_He grunted at mah comment._ "Tried an' true method o' curin' a hangover, darlin'. Never fails."

_We heard footsteps approach th' kitchen doorway an' both o' us turned in that direction. Guido entered with a lopsided grin on his face._

"So ya were able to straighten the punk out, eh, Logan?" _he joked, walkin' ovah ta th' counter. He caught sight o' th' blender an' took a whiff o' th' contents._ "I'm guessin' someone had a little too much to drink if the hangover potion was needed." _He moved ovah ta th' refrigerator an' started pullin' out munchies o' ev'ry kind._

"Where's Karen?" _Ah asked, brushin' away mah tears an' smoothin' down mah hair._

"In the living room. Lousy poker player," _he muttered through a mouthful o' donut. _

_Ah couldn't help but smile._ "Sounds like someone is spendin' an awful lot o' time with Karen lately," _Ah teased him. If Ah didn' know better, Ah would've sworn Ah saw Guido blush. _

_He set th' food onta th' counter before tellin' me,_ "You're crazy, kid. I'm just in it for the dough."

_An' speak o' th' devil. Karen came inta th' room holdin' a cell phone._

"Logan, it's for you. It's Detective Cassidy," _she said, handin' th' cell ta Logan. _

_It seemed like fo'ever fo' him ta have th' conversation, but in reality, it took only a couple o' minutes. He kept noddin' his head an' repeatin' th' word 'okay' inta th' phone. There was no othah reason fo' Detective Cassidy ta call 'cept fo' reportin' news on th' Haller case. He had contacted us th' week before ta say th' NYPD was followin' a lead an' settin' up a sting operation ta trap Haller. We hadn't heard anythin' since then. _

_Ah felt th' moisture build on mah palms. This call could mean that th' whole stalker ordeal was ovah, or that we'd haveta hide out in Canada a while longer. Not that Ah didn' like it out here; th' scenery was beautiful. It was jus' that Ah'd turned inta a city girl ovah th' years, an' Ah couldn't take th' stillness an' quiet fo' very long. _

_Fin'lly, Logan set th' phone aside. We all waited fo' him ta speak, but when he didn' say anythin' Ah got impatient._

"Well?" _Ah demanded._ "What did he say?"

_He raised his eyes an' Ah heard mah breath catch in mah throat. Th' expression on his face didn' look very good. _

_Takin' a deep breath, he stated,_ "Haller's in custody. They arrested him last night."

_Guido an' Karen let out sighs o' relief an' started carryin' on 'bout how ev'rythin' was gonna be okay. Ah couldn't join in th' happiness fo' some reason. Not yet, at least._

"Hey, kid, relax," _Logan told me, puttin' an arm 'round mah shoulder._ "Didn't mean ta scare ya jus' now. I was jus' teasin'."

_Ah looked at him seriously an' asked,_ "We can go home now, right, Logan? It's ovah?"

"Yeah, darlin', it's over. Cassidy says with the evidence mounted against him, Haller's got no chance o' seein' the light o' day anytime soon," _he assured me._ "We'll book the next flight out an' be back in the city in no time."

_Th' smile on mah face couldn't have gotten any bigger._

- oOo -

_There was nothin' sweeter than walkin' in through th' front doors o' th' house. Ah knew we'd only been gone two weeks -- tourin' took us away from home fo' a longer period o' time -- but there was somethin' a li'l claustrophobic 'bout bein' stuck in a cabin fo' that long. Got a li'l touch o' cabin fever, Ah s'ppose. Ah was jus' glad that it was fin'lly ovah. No more worryin' 'bout someone chasin' aftah me an' sendin' me creepy love letters. Never felt so free in mah life. _

'_Til Momma locked me inta a bear hug that coulda choked off even a grizzly's air supply. Seemed like she came outta nowhere soon as Ah called out we were home. Reenie, Kurt an' Rosie followed her out o' th' livin' room._

"Child, if you ever, EVER, go off somewhere without telling me again, I will personally chain you to the attic floor," _she hissed inta mah ear. If it were possible, her grip got even tighter._

"Ah told Rosie, Momma," _Ah croaked out, pleadin' with mah eyes ta Kurt ta get her off me before Ah lost consciousness._

"Yes, and then told her not to tell anyone where you had gone!"

_She let me go then, thankfully, an' Ah turned ta Reenie ta give her a hug._ "Ah knew you'd get it outta her eventu'lly," Ah answered.

"Where's Logan?" _Kurt asked, wrappin' me up in his arms as well. _

_Guido answered fo' me while settin' some o' our bags down._ "Dropped him off at the police station. He's checkin' up on Haller's status." _He turned back ta th' main door._ "I'm gonna run a perimeter check, just to be sure. Lock this behind me."

_Once he was gone, we all moved inta th' livin' room. Momma was still a li'l upset with me fo' not tellin' her personally where Ah was goin', but she could never stay mad at me fo' long. They all started catchin' me up on th' lastest news, carefully stayin' away from anythin' that had ta do with Remy, Ah noticed. _

'_Bout an hour later, Logan strode through th' door lookin' more relaxed than he had in months._

"Well?" _pressed Momma while he took a seat in one o' th' armchairs._

"They're holdin' a preliminary hearin' fer Haller next week ta decide whether or not ta release him on bail. But Cassidy says that he'll be denied, what with the evidence they gathered from his apartment." _One o' his signature smug expressions appeared on his face._ "Open an' shut case, they say. He's lookin' at two ta three life sentences when convicted."

_Th' choice o' words didn' go unnoticed ta me. When. Not 'if.' When. It was a sure thing. Like Logan said, Haller would prob'ly never see th' light o' day again. Which meant he'd be put in some jail cell far, far away from me an' mine._

"That's good to know," _Reenie said._ "One less thing to worry about."

_Kurt, who was sittin' on top o' th' armrest beside me, smiled gently._ "Speaking of worrying, _liebling,_ there's someone else who has been doing a lot of that since you disappeared." _He placed his hand on mah head an' started strokin' mah hair._ "He's called fourteen times -- for today alone."

"And that's only here at the house," _Momma chimed in._ "Somehow, he got a hold of my cell phone number. Not a day has gone by that I haven't heard from that fool Cajun." _She didn' even try ta hide her animosity t'ward Remy._ "I told him that I didn't know where you were and still he persisted in calling!"

"He knew you were lyin'." _Ah got up from th' sofa an' walked ovah ta th' answerin' machine. Didn' want any o' them lookin' at me when Ah did this, so Ah turned mah back ta them an' faced th' paintin' in front o' me. Aftah rewindin' all th' messages, Ah took a deep breath an' tried ta steady mah nerves. Suddenly, it was hard ta remember ev'rythin' that Logan an' Ah talked about. _

_Th' next thing Ah heard was his deep voice comin' through th' speaker. Don' think Ah've evah gone that long without hearin' his voice before. It did some strange things ta mah insides, like melt ev'rythin' inta sugary goop. Had ta catch mahself before Ah started tracin' mah finger 'round th' machine like Ah always loved ta do ta his skin._

"Okay, _chère,_ know ya upset, but we need t'talk. Scared de hell out o' me when ya didn' show at de hotel, an' I know ya on ya way home right now. Call me when ya get dere. I _need_ t'talk t'you."

_Beep. _

"_Chère,_ please. Ya have t'be home by now. Pick up."

_Beep._

"Now ya won' even pick up on ya cell? Rogue, dis is gettin' ridiculous."

_Beep. Ah fast-fo'warded a li'l through some o' th' messages. If Ah were ta listen ta all o' them, Ah'd be there all night._

"All right, so ya need some time t'yaself t't'ink before talkin' t'me. I understand. I jus' wan' hear ya voice. Jus' t'know ya okay."

_Beep._

"Ya can' avoid me f'rever, _chère._ Ya gonna have t'talk t'me sometime."

_Beep. Forward. _

"_Mon Dieu,_ Rogue, where de hell are you? Talked t'Raven an' Kurt t'day. Said dey don' know where ya are. Ya own _fam'ly_ doesn' know where t'find you?! Dis isn' funny anymore, _petite." _

_Beep._

"Okay, I give up. Called ev'ryone I knew t'call tryin' t'find you. S'like ya vanished on me, _belle._ Goin' out o' m'mind worryin' 'bout you."

_Beep. His voice sounded small, almost defeated. Mah heart felt like it collapsed in on itself fo' th' pain Ah caused him._

"Talked t'Irene again t'day. She started reminiscin' 'bout how stubborn ya were as a child. Still are, I t'ink. Anyway, made me t'ink 'bout all our times t'gether. Jus' talkin' 'bout not'in' an' ev'ryt'in'. Holdin' ya in m'arms. I miss you, _mon amant._ I hope you're okay."

_Beep._

"'Member dat villa in Morocco? Ya were so beautiful, _chèrie._ Could hardly breathe when ya stepped t'rough dat door. Had fun dat weekend, _n'est-ce pas?_ I know _I_ did, lickin' dat cream offa your -- "

_Beep. An' we fo'ward on that. Smooth, sugah. Jus' th' kind o' thing Ah want mah parents an' mah brother ta hear, Ah thought in embarrassment. Coulda sworn Ah heard Logan chuckle. _

"_Je t'aime, mignonne._ Come back t'me. Please."

_His voice was barely a whisper. By that time, tears were all but fallin' down mah cheeks. Ah couldn't take anymore. Ev'ry single worried note o' his voice was stabbin' me in th' gut like a ten-inch knife. If he was hurtin' then Ah was hurtin'. It was that simple. Ah loved Remy. Ah realized that Ah always would, no matter what happened. Whatevah occurred that night wasn't important anymore. Genevieve be damned. That woman was not gonna come between me an' th' man Ah loved._

"Darling, are you all right?"

_Ah sniffled a li'l but nodded._ "Ah'm fine, Momma. Jus' thinkin' 'bout what Ah'm gonna say ta Remy, s'all."

_Still didn' know what Ah wanted ta say ta him when th' phone in front o' me rang. Ah was so shocked, all Ah could do was stare at it like Ah'd never seen a telephone before._

"It's probably Remy again," _said Kurt from ovah mah shoulder._ "It's been more than an hour since his last call."

_Wonderful. Not only did Ah NOT know what ta say ta him, but Ah no longer had any time ta figure it out._

"Boy's got impeccable timin'," _Ah said dryly, pickin' up th' receiver. Mah Lord, but Ah was nervous. Which was silly, really; it was jus' Remy._ "Hello?"

_Dead silence. _

_Ah almost smiled in spite o' mah nerves. Did Ah shock Remy inta silence 'cause he was expectin' th' machine ta pick up 'stead o' me?_

"Hello?" _Ah could hear breathin' on th' othah end o' th' line so Ah knew someone was there._ "Remy?"

_There was a pause before Ah got an answer._ "Afraid not."

"Oh, Ah'm sorry. Ah was expectin' a call from someone. May Ah help you?"

"You might."

_Th' voice was male, but not one that Ah recognized. Prob'ly one o' Momma's multitude o' contacts._ "Who do you want ta speak with?"

"You."

_That took me by surprise a little._ "An' may Ah ask who this is?"

"Someone who has missed you while you have been away."

_A chill ran down mah spine. Only so many people knew Ah'd been gone. It certainly wasn't public knowledge. Who could have…?_

"Remy? Sugah, is that you? Are ya tryin' ta play a joke here -- "

"I already told you. My name isn't Remy."

_Ah tried ta swallow th' lump in mah throat. Vaguely, Ah could hear mah fam'ly in back o' me talkin' 'bout somethin' or anothah._ "All right then. What is yoah name?"

"That is of no consequence. Did you enjoy your trip to Canada?"

"H-how do ya know where Ah was?"

"I always know where you are, my love."

_Ah could feel th' air shoot out o' mah lungs in one big rush. Restin' mah free hand 'gainst th' end table, Ah tried ta take deep breaths._ "Who are you?" _Ah fin'lly hissed inta th' phone when Ah got mah breathin' back ta what could pass fo' normal. _

_He ignored mah question. 'Stead he asked me one o' his own._ "Did you like the gifts I sent you: the necklace and the flowers? I hope they made you smile."

_Ah started shakin' mah head. No. No! It couldn't be… He was in police custody -- far away from me. Ah was safe. There was no way fo' him ta get ta me._

"Why are ya doin' this ta me?" _Mah voice was risin', gettin' ev'rybody else's attention. Kurt came up behind me an' rested his hands on mah shoulders in concern._ "What do ya want from me?!"

"To have you with me. I have waited for you for a long time. Soon we will be together. Very soon."

"You sick bastard!" _Ah hollered at him._ "Leave me alone! Do you hear me?"

_Kurt took th' phone from mah hands._ "Who is this?" _he demanded but then looked at th' receiver._ "They hung up." _He knelt down ta where Ah had crumpled ta th' floor. "Liebling,_ who was that?"

_At first, Ah couldn't speak. Ah jus' flung mah arms 'round Kurt's neck an' took comfort in his embrace like Ah used ta when Ah was a kid an' had fallen off mah bike. He rubbed his hand on mah back an' started calmin' me down by whisperin' soothin' words in German inta mah ear. He eventu'lly pulled mah arms back down an' gently made me face him. Reenie an' Momma had come ovah ta kneel beside us, while Logan an' Rosie stood not so far away._

"Rogue," _Kurt said gently,_ "who was that?"

_Ah could hear mah own voice shake._ "It was him. Haller." _Ah practically spat out th' name like a bad aftertaste in mah mouth._ "He musta been callin' from th' police station. Why can't he jus' leave me th' hell alone?" _Not like Ah was really expectin' an answer ta that question. _

_Momma drew me away from Kurt an' inta her arms, pretty much mimickin' his earlier gesture o' comfortin' me. At least Ah was safe here, with mah fam'ly. No big, bad stalker aftah me here._

"It's all right, baby," _Momma cooed, rockin' me like an infant._ "Everything will be all right. Haller's in jail now. There's no way he can get near you. We'll see him rot in prison before that happens. Petty phone calls are just scare tactics."

_Behind us, Logan cleared his throat. Th' relaxed expression that he had on before was now nowhere in sight._ "Prisoners are given one phone call each," _he said with a grimness Ah didn' like._ "Haller used his earlier ta call a lawyer."

_Ah stared at him, almost afraid ta ask._ "W-what are ya sayin', Logan?"

"That wasn't Haller. It was someone else."

----

~ So if Haller isn't the stalker, then who is? ~  
I know I promised earlier no more cliffhangers. Silly me, I meant starting with the _next_ chapter! ; )  
Blue button! Blue button! Pretty!


	14. Unforeseen

**Disclaimer: **If any of you catch a glimpse of a crazed disclaimer wielding a steam iron, warn me in advance, okay? Geez, you clean out its mouth once and you're targeted for life! 

**A/N: ** Hi, all! It took me a little longer to post this chapter because I was so absorbed in other people's fics. I've been playing catch-up with several on-going series here and in Evolution, and my focus was lost for a while. 

~ ishandahalf, Disturbed Courtney, Christy S., Lucky439, magdellin, T., Slugzilla, Mind. -- Thanks for the reviews! *hands out homemade cyber-cookies* My muse made them especially for you! Oh, wait... you know what, on second thought, give those back. He's been on a power trip lately and I wouldn't put it past him to mess with these babies. A healthy reviewer is better than a hospitalized reviewer. ; ) 

~ V -- Reviews of any kind are much appreciated! They let me know you're still interested. And hey, thanks for taking the time to review. Don't kid yourself; those blue buttons take FOREVER to upload! Well, okay maybe not _forever... _; ) 

~ Jean1 -- Very sharp of you to have picked up on the fact that Haller wasn't the stalker. He was merely a pointer to take suspicion off of the real culprit. 

~ missy42 -- I don't know if that concoction really works for hangovers. It was included in this email my godmother sent my mom about the fringe benefits of bananas. And seeing as I've never been drunk before -- honestly, I hope I never will be. I HATE being sick! -- I haven't had the opportunity to test it. But hey, I LOVE your drunken blackmail idea! Maybe I should do that to my friends, too... hmm...   
You don't understand, I CAN'T hunt dragons! I'm a charter member of the 'Save the Dragons' movement! *pulls out pictured identification card* Umm, it's a bad photo. It was muggy that day and the dragon behind me was breathing down my neck... literally.   
p.s. Of course I joust! I have never been so insulted in all my life! ; ) 

~ Marvel -- Nice to know that you're still sticking it out with us! 

~ Broadway -- I knew you'd like the Jean time! ; ) 

~ Rogue Goddess, BJ, Charisma -- I have been slapped with a gag order and I officially can't say anything. _Buuut..._ just between you and me… *turns suddenly to see a pack of angry plot bunnies approaching at a furious pace* Argh! Run for the hills! They're out for blood! 

* Well, it looks like the votes are more or less tied on the cliffhanger issue, so I guess it all comes down to one thing then... ME! That's right, I'm pulling author's prerogative here. Ahh, c'mon! My muse gets to control everything else; let me at least have this!   


**CHAPTER 14   
Unforeseen**

Remy marveled at the small digits in front of him. It didn't seem possible for the human finger to be so incredibly tiny. He lightly touched the infant's palm and watched, mesmerized, as she grasped his finger with her entire hand. 

His daughter had been born two months earlier, in his home city of New Orleans. Genevieve, her mother, had moved into the LeBeau family home three months before her birth. It was an odd situation for them all, but Remy gladly endured it because it meant being able to see his daughter on a daily basis. 

At the moment, the baby was sprawled on her back in the middle of his king-sized bed, surrounded by pillows and cushions that ensured she wouldn't roll over and fall onto the floor. He softly sang an old Cajun lullaby that his _Tante_ Mattie had sung to him as a boy, in an effort to coax the infant into slumber. Stretched out beside her, he gently stroked the side of her leg in a rhythmic motion that always helped in getting her to sleep. It wasn't long before her eyes closed and she settled into her afternoon nap. 

_"Mon bel ange_ [My beautiful angel]," he whispered lovingly, gently smoothing his hand over her soft brown hair. "I may not be in love wit' ya _maman,_ but I def'nitely love you." The sigh that escaped his lips was deep and full of regret. "If only ya were another woman's _chile._ If only ya had a diff'rent _maman."_

It had been seven months since he had last seen or heard anything from Rogue. Seven months since they had been forced apart in Los Angeles, following the release of the paternity test results. It had been four months since he'd given up leaving messages on her home answering machine. He thought it was more or less safe to say that they had broken up, even though there'd been no official agreement to go their separate ways. The lack of communication for such a long period spoke volumes to Remy, and he knew when it was time to give up a fruitless fight. 

It still hurt though, the void she had left in his heart. It hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. Not even the loss of his first love, Bella Donna, had hurt as much. If his love for his daughter hadn't proved otherwise, he would have sworn he no longer had a heart beating inside his chest. 

He tried not to think about it; nothing good ever came from his dwelling on what he couldn't change. He curled his body next to his napping daughter and soon followed her into sleep. 

His visit into dreamland didn't last long as he was suddenly jolted awake by movement on the other side of the bed. His eyes flew open to see Genevieve lying across from him, watching both he and their daughter. 

Reaching over, she brought her hand to the baby's cheek. "Has she been sleeping long, _chèri?"_ She brushed against his own hand, which lay protectively on top of the infant's arm. Whether the gesture was by accident or intentional, Remy did not know. 

"I have told you, Genevieve," his said in a stern voice, low enough so as not to disturb the baby, "do _not_ call me that. We are not friends. We are not lovers. De only connection 'tween us is dis child. Not'in' else." 

"There is nothing else because you will not allow anything else," she protested. "We could be so perfect together, _mon amour,_ if you would only give us the chance." She turned her eyes to the baby, and then softened her voice until it was barely a whisper. "She is not returning to you. She made her decision months ago, and yet you still hold out hope that she will come back." Her voice rose as emotion began to fill her words. "She is not coming back! When will you accept that and move on with your life so that you can be there for me and for our daughter!" 

"Lower ya voice, Genevieve," he hissed at her in warning, "before ya wake her." 

"I will not!" she declared, jumping off the bed. The abrupt movement startled the sleeping infant awake. Her small cherubic face scrunched up in preparation to cry. Genevieve scooped her up and began to soothe her with a back and forth rocking motion, all the while continuing with her rant. "I have sat back for months, watching your love for her destroy you, and I will not have that anymore. _I_ love you, Remy! More than she ever could! _Mon Dieu, chèri,_ I borne you a child! Does that mean nothing?" 

He rolled onto the edge of the bed, facing his back to her. The headache that had been developing at the base of his neck seemed to be moving up to his temples. His eyes felt like they were burning with the intensity of the migraine that was assaulting him. 

"Stop dis," he said, standing and turning toward her. She was holding their two-month-old baby to her chest and looking at him with wild eyes that seemed just beyond reason. He had read about postpartum depression and how it sometimes drove a new mother to do things she normally wouldn't do. He believed Genevieve wouldn't do anything to harm her own daughter, but at that point, he wasn't willing to take any chances. 

"Stop what?" she bit out, backing toward the open balcony as he advanced on her. "Stop loving you? Stop telling you the truth?" Her eyes locked to his in anger. "Rogue never loved you, _chèri._ If she did, she would have stood by you -- _without_ question -- when they told you that this baby was yours." Her gaze fell to the infant in her arms. "This baby," she whispered lightly. _"Mon fille_ [My daughter]." 

He watched as the glint in Genevieve's eyes changed. Suddenly, she took a step back, twisted her body toward the balcony and pitched the crying child over the railing. 

_"NO!"_ he cried out in horror, jerking his eyes open. Remy was lying on his back in bed, breathing rapidly. With some difficulty, he tried to ease his oxygen intake into a more normal pattern. He closed his eyes and drew an arm over them. 

_Dieu, dat wasn' a dream,_ he thought once he had quieted his nerves. _Dat was a nightmare._ He rolled onto his side and was immediately met with enticing pools of jade. _Dis,_ he told himself, shutting his eyes yet again, _dis is de dream. 'M gon' open m'eyes an' find de other side o' de bed empty, no sign whatsoever o' de woman I love._

But when his vision cleared, she was still there, looking across at him with her hands tucked beneath the side of her face. 

"How long you been watchin' me sleep, _chère?"_

"'Bout an hour or so. Ah was jus' gonna wake ya. Looked like you were havin' a bad dream. Were you?" 

_"Oui._ De worst." 

"You wanna talk 'bout it?" 

_"Non._ Not partic'larly." He pulled himself into a sitting position and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Strangely enough, the headache in his dream seemed to be making an appearance in real life, though not as strong. "Didn' know ya were comin' here," he commented when she failed to continue the conversation. 

"Ah didn' know either. Jus' sorta found ourselves here, Ah guess." 

He gave her a look. "Ya jus' 'found' yaself in Nawlins? Knew dis city had a pull on people, jus' didn' t'ink it could pull dem down all de way from New York." 

Another silence fell upon them. As he looked over to her reclining form, he noticed that she wouldn't meet his gaze. Instead, she focused her attention to a point over and beyond him, probably the framed family pictures on the wall a few feet away. 

In a soft voice, he said, "Left a bunch o' messages f'r ya. Haven' heard from you in two weeks. Where were you?" 

For another stretch of time, she neither moved nor answered him. Finally, she folded her legs inward and rolled herself into a kneeling position before him. Raising her eyes to his, she replied quietly, "Ah was in Canada." 

"Canada?" he repeated, somewhat surprised that she had left the country altogether. "Why did ya go up dere? 'Cause o' de test results?" 

She simply shook her head but didn't elaborate. "Ah'm sorry, Remy. Ah didn' mean ta worry ya so much. Not like there was anythin' ta worry about, really. Ah mean, both Logan an' Guido were with me th' whole time. An' Karen, too. Ah didn' even tell Momma where we were, but she eventu'lly got it outta Rosie a few days later." Her words were coming out in quick succession, in a mess of syllables and sounds, but at that point she no longer cared. She felt that if she were to stop her rambling, she would never make sense of the chaotic thoughts running through her skull. "Ah never intended ta leave you, sugah -- not at first, anyway. But aftah Ah called th' lab, Ah jus' couldn't think straight. An' then Logan shipped us off ta Canada as soon as we got home. An'... an'..." 

"Shh, _petite,"_ he soothed, pulling her against him and resting his cheek against her hair. "S'okay. Ya don' have t'explain." 

She shook her head again, this time in protest, but didn't move from her position against him. "No, Remy, it's _not_ okay. Ah was listenin' ta what ev'ryone else was sayin' 'bout you, but th' only person Ah _should_ have been listenin' to was you. How could Ah say that Ah believed you in one breath, an' then turn around an' get all unsure o' you in th' next?" She raised her hands to the front of his long-sleeved silk shirt and met his stare with pleading eyes. "Ah'm so sorry, Remy," she whispered, her voice thick with the emotions coursing through her system. "Ah'm sorry that Ah doubted you, even fo' a second. Ah love you. An' Ah don' care 'bout all this nonsense with Genevieve. Whatevah happened, Ah don't care. Even if ya had a thousand babies with her, it ain't changin' how Ah feel. Ah. Love. You," she emphasized, tightening her grip on his shirt. "An' unless you tell me ta get lost, Ah ain't goin' anywhere." 

Remy had to catch himself before the grin became apparent on his face. He was, after all, supposed to be the 'mistreated' lover. But the surprise of waking up to her in his bed and the heartfelt, almost desperate apology that she was offering now was quickly making up for any hardship he had endured in the past couple of weeks. He had told her before that he could never be angry with her, for _any_ reason, and that still remained true. To him, this emerald-eyed angel could do no wrong. He smiled wryly to himself. Sure, she was stubborn as hell and as determined as a bull on a rampage, but still... 

Looking down into her eyes, he saw a splash of fear in them. He realized that he had taken longer than necessary to respond to her monologue, and her confidence in his willingness to forgive her was beginning to crumble. 

"Remy?" she asked in a small voice, tears forming like crystal drops at the corner of her eyes. She hated it when his face was void of any emotion as it was then. She didn't like the thought of not being able to tell what he was thinking. An image of Remy getting up and walking away from her entered her mind, and it was enough to make her insides twist in panic. "Sugah, talk ta me... please?" 

He lowered his face to hers until they were barely a breath apart. The blank stare was still evident on his features and it bothered her to no end. Closing the narrow gap between them, he lightly brushed his lips against her brow before he murmured, "Should turn ya over m'knee an' give ya backside a good spankin' f'r de hell ya put me t'rough dese past two weeks." He pulled back and favored her with a lopsided grin. "But seein' as 'm in love wit' you, I t'ink I'll jus' let dis one slide." 

The smile on her face couldn't have been any brighter as she flung herself into his arms and held him tightly to her. "Ah missed you so much." 

He laughed as he gently guided both of them down to stretch out more comfortably on the bed. "Maybe next time I'll show ya how t'operate de telephone, _chère._ Dat way ya c'n call ahead an' warn me dat ya gon' disappear wit'out a trace." It felt so good to hold her in his arms again that he almost didn't want to bring up the topic that had been nagging at the back of his brain. _"Mignonne?"_

"Mmmhmm?" 

"What were you runnin' from? Why go all de way t'Canada if not 'cause o' de lawsuit?" 

She scooted up closer to him, placing her hands onto his chest and resting her chin on top. "Swear ya won't get upset." 

He was instantly alert. _"Non,"_ he answered without hesitation, immediately rejecting her idea. "'M not swearin' anyt'in'." 

"Remy..." 

"What happened, Rogue?" 

She sighed. There was no way of telling him the reason for their sudden trip up north without eliciting a negative response. "He sent anothah letter. On th' last day o' mah tour, jus' before Ah went onstage." 

He looked at her in shock. There was no need to expound on who 'he' was. "An' ya still performed?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Ya promised me you'd go t'de police if somet'in' else happened." 

"An' Ah did. Logan took th' letters ta a detective friend o' his th' very next day." 

"So dey caught dis guy?" 

"They caught Haller," she eluded, briefly wondering if it were better to let him believe the stalker situation was resolved. However, she wasn't given much time to dwell on the matter, as Remy seemed to sense her misgivings. 

"Out wit' it, _petite." _

Damn th' man. He can read me like a book! Still, she tried to feign ignorance. "What are you talkin' 'bout, sug-- " He cocked an eyebrow at her. _He's like a snake on a caffeine high; nothin' gets past him,_ she thought in annoyance. "They caught Haller," she repeated. "But apparently he wasn't th' one sendin' th' letters." 

"Dey found someone else's fingerprints?" 

"No. He... he called th' house. By then, Haller was already in custody." 

If it hadn't been for the slight tightening of his arms around her, Rogue would have thought Remy had taken the news with no reaction whatsoever. 

"Dat's it. Ya ain't goin' back home. Ya stayin' right here in Nawlins wit' me." 

"What?!" If she had been expecting anything at all, it certainly wasn't that. 

"You heard me. You'll be safer here dan in New York anyway. I'd like t'see if dat bastard c'n take on de LeBeau clan an' come out alive." 

"Ah can't stay here," she protested. 

_"Pourquoi?_ [Why?]" 

"Well, fo' one thing what would Jean-Luc think o' me livin' here, even if temporarily?" 

"Poppa would love t'have ya here. He adores you, _chèrie._ If he were twenty years younger, I'd be worryin' 'bout him stealin' ya away from me." 

"Remy, Ah'm serious." 

"So am I." He brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Dis fam'ly is de best dere is when it comes t'keepin' t'ings safe, what wit' Poppa havin' ta keep his business interests secure. An' even if dat fool were t'come t'de Big Easy, he'd never be able t'touch us out dere." He gestured to the city outside the windows. 

She knew that he was right. Half of New Orleans seemed to be related to Remy in one way or another. He couldn't walk ten yards without bumping into one of his countless 'cousins.' Because the LeBeau family was so extensive in numbers, they formed a sort of guild, where acceptance into the family was made possible only by blood or adoption. They took looking out for their own to a whole new level. 

"You get no say in de matter, _mon amant,"_ he continued, "so you might as well accept it." 

"Oh, so it's a dictatorship now, is it?" The playfulness in her eyes belied the sternness of her voice. 

_"Oui._ Does _mademoiselle_ have a problem wit' tyranny?" 

"Yes, Ah believe she does." 

"Mmm," he murmured, receiving her kiss. "Well, tough. She's jus' gon' have t'take it t'de higher-ups den." 

Smiling against his lips, she whispered, "An' what do th' 'higher-ups' have ta say 'bout it?" 

"An' de judges' decision..." he pulled away from her, pretending to ponder the request, "... de appeal is denied. Verdict still stands." 

With agonizing slowness and the skill of a woman who'd made half a career out of dancing, she crawled atop his stretched-out form. "An' there's nothin' Ah can do ta change their minds?" 

Her hips were dangerously close to his, and the heat emitting from her body was all but driving him mad. 

"Dey've been known t'throw a trial or two. Wit' de right incentive." 

"Well, then," she declared huskily, undoing the buttons on his shirt and lightly running her fingertips down his chest, "we'll jus' have ta find th' right incentive, now won't we?" 

Unsurprisingly, he had no objections to that. 

Hours later, Remy lay awake with Rogue nestled comfortably in his arms. She had been asleep for some time, claiming he had worn her out more than 'Ororo's credit cards at an after-Christmas-Day sale.' Truth be told, she had done the same to him. But for some reason, tired as he was, he couldn't quite bring himself to fall asleep just yet. It would be soon, though; his eyelids were getting heavier by the second. 

In the meantime, he wanted to savor the feeling of having her next to him once again. Not being able to see her for weeks on end while both of them were on tour was a difficult thing to take. But having absolutely no idea where she was, whom she was with or if she were safe, had all but killed him. Finding that she had come home to him in New Orleans was not only a surprise, it was a godsend; an unconscious prayer answered. 

Leaning into her hair and closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. With the barest of whispers, he said, _"Merci, chèrie,_ you came back t'me. _Je t'aime... toujours."_

Although not really intending to, he slowly drifted into a contented sleep. 

Rogue's eyes snapped open. Something had woken her up from a blissful slumber. Looking about the room, she tried to pinpoint exactly what it had been. 

_It couldn't possibly have been Remy,_ she thought as she felt his steady breath against the back of her neck. It sounded as if he had been asleep for a while. Judging by the grayish tones of light seeping through the windows, sunrise was still an hour away so it couldn't have been time to get up yet. There was no knocking on the bedroom door to ensure that they woke up on schedule; and no incessant ringing of a telephone or a pager echoing off the walls, demanding that they get ready for an early morning appointment. 

She was mentally running down the list of probable causes for her rude awaking when she heard it again. It was a soft buzzing noise. Gradually, it grew louder and louder. She suddenly realized that the sound was playing itself inside her head. It started out as a quiet jingle in the back of her mind, but slowly progressed into a full-scale melody. 

She softly kissed Remy on the lips before rolling out of bed and then looking around for the clothes they had hastily discarded the night before. She spotted Remy's silk shirt in a heap next to the bed and quickly donned it. The smooth material fell to her mid-thigh and well past her wrists. 

Making her way to the desk against the wall, she started opening drawers in search of a pen and paper. She needed to jot down the song playing in her mind as soon as possible. There was no guarantee that she'd be able to recall it again once she got back to the studio. 

_There's more paper in here than a stationary store,_ she mused, shutting one drawer and then pulling open another. _Unfo'tunately fo' li'l ol' me, they've all got somethin' written on 'em. Wouldn't wanna accidentally ruin somthin' important. C'mon, sugah, where do ya keep all th' blank paper?_ She removed a folder from the bottom compartment and placed it out of the way on top of the desk. _You've gotta have some kind o' -- Aha!_ Triumphantly, she withdrew a legal pad from the drawer and immediately went to work on writing out the song in her head. 

"Da, da, da, dum..." she hummed softly as the pen flew across the page. The words were crashing around in her brain faster than her hand could write them. "... was afraid you had gone... never to be seen... but you came back to me... who would have believed..." 

The tune was slow and sultry, like a lazy river on a summer afternoon. It reminded her of her childhood in Caldecott when the highlight of her day was floating down the Mississippi until the sun decided to shyly duck its face behind the horizon. Within minutes, she had written the chorus and both verses of the ballad. It was when she reached the song's bridge that she began to have some difficulty. She tapped the end of the ballpen against the desk, trying to come up with suitable words that would compliment what she had already written down. Her left foot soon began to mimic the pen's rhythmic movements. 

Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Momentarily abandoning her song writing, she moved her hand toward the folder that had earlier been discarded. 

Soft humming gently coaxed him back into consciousness. At first, Remy thought it was coming from the woman lying beside him, but he soon realized that she was no longer there. He swallowed a grunt of displeasure. He hated waking up to an empty bed. It was a ludicrous thought on account of the Louisiana heat, but the bed always felt colder without her. 

He raised sleepy eyes to the opposite side of the room and spotted her scribbling furiously at the desk. The quiet melody reached him once again and he recognized the mannerisms of a songwriter at work. 

_Dat'd be jus' like her,_ he thought in amusement, watching her pause and begin to tap her pen against the wood. _She'd sacrifice much needed sleep jus' 'cause a song was runnin' t'rough her head._

Languidly and with the grace of a panther, he slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants before making his way over to where she sat. Wryly, he pondered the predicament of his current situation. At the moment, he was half-dressed. In order to become _fully_ dressed, he'd have to strip Rogue of his blue silk shirt. Normally that would have been a no-brainer for him, but there was something very... seductive about her wearing his clothing. It was hard to describe considering that it was just a simple shirt, but somehow she managed to make it look incredibly provocative. 

He approached her from behind and was about to open his mouth to speak when he spotted the open folder on the desk. Stunned, he turned his attention to Rogue. From over her shoulder he could see the item in her hand. 

She was holding his picture of Genevieve. 

---- 

~ That was NOT a cliffhanger. I'm telling you, it wasn't. *stomps over to muse and yanks him up by the collar* What do you think you're doing?! If readers start coming after us with pitchforks and projectile produce, I am SO throwing you to the wolves and saving my own skin! 


	15. Calm Before the Storm

**In Honor.** 09.11.02  
To the thousands of heroes that were born and lost as a direct result of September 11, 2001.  
Your courage saved us, your love inspired us and your sacrifice brought us together.  
You will never be forgotten. God bless you.

**Disclaimer: **Okay, I _finally_ got the disclaimer trapped in the closet. Now if you guys value your lives -- ahem, MY life -- do _NOT_ open the closet door!

**A/N: **I just came back from the hospital, and man, are you guys brutal! Poor muse had to have organ transplants of _every_ kind; it was like a total overhaul of his bodily systems! And V... whoa... V did a _real_ number on him with the pitchfork. _Somebody's_ been putting in their hours with the Assassins' Guild lately. ; )

~ Christy S., V, Lucky439, T., Dragonseizer -- Thanks for letting me know what you think! I always enjoy seeing your names up on the Review Board!

~ ilovetidus, Rogue Goddess -- I would like to inform you that I have stolen Logan away from Rogue's employment and he has been ordered to take down any possible threats to my person. Okay, so maybe he's just a stuffed Wolvie doll with a lame 'grrr' every time you squeeze his tummy, but still... I HAVE A STUFFED WOLVIE DOLL AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE HIM!

~ Disturbed Courtney -- Wouldn't you just know it, I finally get past the first mountain and then on the other side... there's another mountain to climb over! All right, who's the one that keeps putting all these mountains here?!

~ ishandahalf -- I still stand by the claim that it was NOT a cliffhanger. _Muse:_ *taps Temptress on the shoulder* Actually, it _was_ a cliffhanger. _Temptress:_ Shh! You're in enough trouble as it is! Do you WANT anothor trip to the emergency room?

~ trouble -- Both my mind and I thank you very much! ; )

~ missy42 -- Okay, I've made contact. Got a weekly poker game going with the dragons. You want in? ; )

~ jelispar -- Hi to you, too! I'm sorry to hear of your reading woes lately. And I hope your next installment with little Celeste is in the works already! : )

**CHAPTER 15  
Calm Before the Storm**

"So tell me, sugah," Rogue's southern drawl floated up from her sitting position in front of him, "how long you plannin' on standin' back there all quiet like?"

On any other given day, he would have been proud of her ability to sense his silent presence behind her. But the fact that she didn't turn around to address him, the fact that she hadn't even lifted her contemplative gaze from the snapshot in her hand, caused a dozen different alarms to go off in his head. A pensive lover didn't appear to be any better than a tempestuous one.

He moved to crouch by her feet, resting one hand on the back of the chair and locking his eyes with hers. "_Chère,_ I c'n explain -- "

"There's nothin' _to_ explain," she brusquely interrupted.

He narrowed his eyes at her tone. It was almost as if...

"Ah trust you."

... she wasn't upset?

It took Remy a full minute to digest that revelation, during which the blinking motion of his eyes doubled from its normal pattern. To his knowledge, when a woman discovered a photograph of another woman in her lover's bedroom, the typical reaction would involve hysterical tears, furious ranting and the occasional projectile object. Rogue, however, was partaking in none of those options. From the composed expression on her face, he would have to say that she was as far from throwing the bed at him as was humanly possible. Still, not yet _completely_ trusting her serene demeanor -- after all, predators had been known to play dead before moving in for the kill -- he continued to stare at her with an air of confusion.

Rogue leaned forward, pressing her index finger to his furrowed brow, and said in all seriousness, "Keep that up an' yoah face is gonna freeze like that fo'ever." She cracked a small smile. "Quit lookin' so shocked, sugah," she scolded him lightly. "Ah told ya last night that Ah believed in you. Whatevah this is," she indicated the picture still in her hand, "Ah'm sure there's a reason fo' it."

Slowly, he rose to his feet, pulling her along with him. Without releasing her gaze, he took the photo from her and returned it to the folder on the desk.

"All right, _petite,_ who are ya an' what have you done wit' Rogue?" His tone was saturated with underlying mirth. "_My_ Rogue would be on her seventh hissy fit by now, wit' de temper on dat girl."

"So yoah sayin' you'd feel better if Ah'd smash this desk ovah yoah head first?" she asked him sweetly. "'Cause Ah can do that, if ya want."

He grinned. He loved her playful spirit. It brought along with it the cure to the tension that had unknowingly crept into his bones. With practiced ease, he twirled them around so that he landed soundly onto the chair, with Rogue securely on top of his lap. He reached over and began spreading the contents of the folder onto the surface of the desk.

"Rogue, you 'member de last time you were here in Nawlins?" he asked when he was finished. He noticed that she had kept her eyes on him while he worked, never once glancing at the material before them. "You 'member what I said t'you?"

She nodded, recalling the day in the parlor when he'd told her the allegations against him weren't true. She had believed him then, trusting in his word without asking for proof. However, her faith in him was shaken that day in Los Angeles, when it was revealed that the baby was indeed his. It had been a difficult thing for her to come to terms with, but she'd done it. She'd realized how important Remy was to her and she was not about to give him up, not that easily. She wasn't too excited to hear about the night the baby was conceived, but if it was a hurdle she'd have to jump over in order to be with Remy, then she would willingly endure it -- even if it killed her.

Taking a deep breath, she answered shakily, "Ah remember."

He saw the hesitant fear in her eyes, as if she were steeling herself against what he was about to tell her. "'Splained t'you dat I wasn' feelin' like m'self dat night. Dat me an' de boys had been drinkin' some before gettin' t'de hotel."

Again, she nodded, although he hadn't really asked a question. She could feel her gut twist in anticipation, dreading the imminent confession of infidelity.

"But not'in' happened, _chèrie,"_ he told her quietly. "I didn' sleep wit' her."

It seemed to take forever for the words to register in her mind. Once they did, her head shot up and her gaze locked onto his. She searched his eyes for some sign of deception or concealment of the truth, but all that reflected back to her was pure and naked honesty.

"You didn' lie ta me," she whispered in amazement, tracing the outline of his jaw with a fingertip. "Ev'rythin' ya told me back then was true."

It was his turn to nod.

"An' Ah didn' believe you," she continued, ashamed of doubting him for a time. Gathering his hands in her own, she brushed her lips against his knuckles. "Ah'm sorry, Remy." Suddenly, she lifted her eyes in confusion. "But... but th' tests... they say yoah th' father."

"Dey're wrong."

"But how can that be? Ah called th' lab an' talked ta Dr. MacTaggert -- " She stopped, a thought suddenly striking her. "Someone's settin' you up?"

Again Remy nodded, motioning to the file on the desk. For the first time, Rogue looked over the papers, taking in the numerous pictures, bank statements, hospital records and other documents that were included.

"Yoah stalkin' this woman?"

"Not me," he replied. "Soon as I got served de paternity papers, I hired a private investigator t'follow her 'round, see what she was playin' at. We were hopin' she'd meet up wit' de real father sometime but she's been pretty quiet, keepin' t'herself mostly." He pulled out a few of the medical papers. "She makes regular visits t'her doctor, alone or wit' one o' her girlfriends. Baby's doin' good: strong heartbeat, healthy."

"Nothin' suspicious?"

"Jus' dis." He showed her the bank statements. "Ev'ry two weeks, a certain chunk o' change gets deposited inta her account. Like clockwork."

"She's got herself a sugah daddy," Rogue acknowledged, scanning the pages. "Yoah P.I. can't find out who's doin' th' depositin'?"

"Anonymous transfers, dere's no way o' knowin'. Other dan dat, looks like any other woman goin' t'rough a normal pregnancy."

"'Cept that she's tryin' ta pin you as th' father."

"_Oui,_ 'cept f'r dat."

"Must be yoah charmin' personality an' dashin' good looks. Try bein' a li'l less irresistible fo' a change, sugah."

He looked at her in surprise. "Ya makin' jokes 'bout dis, _chère?"_

"It's either that, or make mahself insane tryin' ta figure out why she's doin' all this. Seems like an awful lot o' trouble jus' ta ensure that her baby's taken cared of." She turned to him fully. "So what happens now? With th' lawsuit an ev'rything?"

His arms tightened around her lower back. "Been ordered t'pay child s'pport f'r de baby."

"Even though it's not yoahs."

"De courts have no way o' knowin' dat. De test results say dat 'm de father an' dat's what dey're goin' wit'."

She lowered her gaze to the base of his throat, almost as if she were scared of her next question. "What about... th' othah suit? Th' one that Matt mentioned before?"

"De statutory rape? Dey're workin' on it," he replied shortly.

She was instantly alert. "What does that mean?" she asked anxiously. "They're not actu'lly gonna _charge_ you with it, are they?"

"_Chère,_ dey're jus' doin' deir jobs. Far as dey're concerned, I slept wit' a minor an' got her pregnant."

"But they're wrong!" she insisted. "Why are you takin' this so calmly, Remy? Didn' Matt say somethin' 'bout time in jail if a judge evah found ya guilty o' statutory rape?"

He nodded solemnly. "Five years. Minimum."

"Five years? Five _years?!_ Remy, that's insane! We can't jus' let them do this! We have ta _do_ somethin'! Five years is a long time. What'll happen if they send ya ta prison? What'll happen ta yoah career? What'll happen ta -- "

"Rogue!" He grabbed her wrists and shook her slightly, commanding her attention and jolting her out of her hysteria. "Calm down, _chère._ Ev'ryt'in's gon' be okay," he soothed.

"Ya don' know that, Remy," she whispered, his voice quieting her considerably. "Ya won't be able ta charm yoah way out o' this one."

"I got people workin' on dis," he assured her. "We'll catch her at her own game."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It _is_ simple, _belle."_ He moved his hands up to stroke her arms lovingly. "No worries."

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing herself as close to him as possible. "Ah can't lose you, Remy."

It was all he could do to stop the shiver that threatened to ripple throughout his system. Her voice had been as quiet as death, and yet it couldn't have been any more powerful had she shouted it directly into his ear.

He wished he could have been as certain as he sounded, but the truth of the matter was that he was just as uneasy as she. Discovering that the test results were positive, and that someone was trying to set him up, was a rather nasty shock. But attempting to uncover evidence to establish his innocence was proving to be the real outrage. Every turn he made seemed to bring him right back to where he started: between a rock and an even bigger rock. There was no way he could simply announce to the public that he was innocent of the accusations; the test results would make a lie of such a claim. And although a second paternity test was being ordered, it would certainly prove just as fruitless as a public announcement. No doubt whoever had manipulated the first test would find a way to do the same to the next.

His only hope at this point was catching Genevieve in her lie, obtaining some kind of proof that the baby she was carrying was fathered by another man. However, after two months of careful surveillance, his private investigator hadn't been able to come up with so much as a traffic violation, much less evidence of a conspiracy against him. Only the scheduled deposits into her bank account seemed suspicious, but even those could have been explained off as the generosity of a wealthy friend or relative.

As it was, his situation didn't appear to be as optimistic as he would have liked. He stood a very real chance of being convicted of statutory rape and sentenced to time in prison. But he didn't want to worry Rogue with that fact. If there was even a glimmer of hope that he could prevail, he _would_ press on. Surrendering in defeat would never be an option for him.

"Hey, hey," he said softly as he felt the first of her tears hit his bare shoulder. He pulled back slightly and cradled her face in his hands. "No cryin', _mignonne._ It'll be all right... I promise. You said ya trusted me, didn' ya?" She nodded slightly against his hands. "_Bien._ Den dere's not'in' f'r you t'worry 'bout. 'Sides," he added with a teasing smile, "you'll ruin m'good shirt if ya keep dat up."

In response, she hit him lightly on the arm. As he retaliated with a hurt-puppy-dog look, she retorted, "Crazy Cajun."

"Careful wit' ya words, _chère,"_ he chided playfully. "Ya f'rgettin' where ya are."

"Right... Cajun country."

He slid his hand down the deep, open neckline to her collarbone, taking in the delicious warmth of her naked skin. "C'mon, _mon amant,_ let's see a smile."

With more confidence than she actually felt, she obliged her lover's request and smiled at him brilliantly. If he could be upbeat about their situation, then so could she.

He grinned at her in return, and then ducked his head beneath her chin to place his mouth where his hand had been. As he inhaled, he caught the scent of his own cologne lingering on her skin, rich and spicy. It was incredibly alluring, and some primal male instinct within him grunted in satisfaction. She was his. In much the same way as he was hers.

"Only problem we have now, _chèrie,"_ he murmured against her throat, "is who gets which side o' de bed."

She pushed him back so that she could look at him fully. "Ah am _not_ movin' in _here,"_ she declared firmly.

"An' why not, pray tell?"

"Sugah, it's one thing ta be movin' inta yoah fam'ly's house fo' a while, but Ah ain't gonna move inta yoah _bedroom._ What would yoah daddy say?"

"_Chère,_ you gettin' modest on me now? You don' t'ink Poppa -- or ev'rybody else f'r dat matter -- knows what we do up here when we lock de door an' don' come out f'r days on end?"

"No... Ah mean, Ah _know,_ but still... Ah'd feel better stayin' in one o' th' guestrooms."

"Ya kiddin' me, right?" He watched her shake her head. "Ya serious?"

"Yup."

"_Chère,_ you'll be spendin' most o' ya time here anyway. Why bother wit' de pretense o' havin' ya own room an' all de trouble o' crossin' de hallway at night?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You sound mighty sure o' yoahself, Mr. LeBeau, that _that_ is actu'lly gonna be happenin' ev'ry night."

He raised his own eyebrow at her. "It's not?" he challenged. They stared off for a few moments until he looked away, shrugging. "'Sides ya can' move inta de guestrooms. Dey're all occupied."

"Oh, really?" she asked sarcastically. The LeBeau family home was a mansion with acres of land surrounding it. The idea of it being filled to capacity, with no room to spare, was like filling an ocean with an eyedropper. "By whom, may Ah ask?"

"Well, let's see... dere's Logan, an' Guido, an' de rest o' ya security. Plus all m'relatives."

"Yoah relatives?" she repeated incredulously. "An' when exactly will they get here?"

"Soon as I call dem an' tell dem dat dey're stayin' here f'r a while." She swatted at him again as a devilish grin appeared on his features. "Seriously t'ough, _chèrie,"_ he slipped his hands down to caress her hips, "you gon' make me beg?"

She sighed loudly. "Yoah not gonna give up 'til ya get yoah way, are ya?"

"Not likely, no."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled in close to him. "You better be worth it, sugah."

"Care t'test de merchandise first, _madame?"_ he teased, drawing her into a deep kiss. He almost laughed when he felt her mold her body even tighter into his.

Moaning against his mouth before pulling away, she mumbled, "Remy, Ah'm hungry."

He grunted throatily. "So am I, _belle."_

She nearly giggled as he readjusted her on his lap and moved in to regain access to her neck. The kisses he was feathering along her skin were distracting her terribly from her original train of thought. She mentally shook herself and tried again. "No, Remy... Ah mean, Ah'm _really_ hungry. It's almost breakfast an' Ah need food." As if in agreement, her stomach grumbled loudly. She grinned sheepishly at him. "We didn' get a chance ta eat anythin' last night."

Smirking, he quipped, "Not m'fault, _chère._ You were de one dat took advantage o' innocent li'l me."

She gawked at him with indignation. "Ah beg ta differ!"

"_Non?_ Who was de one dat climbed inta whose bed? Who was de one dat kissed whom first? Who was de one dat crawled on top o' whom?"

"Okay, so maybe Ah did a little," she laughed, moving in for another kiss. Another protesting grumble emanated from her stomach.

Reluctantly, Remy drew away from her. "Better feed ya, _petite,_ before ya belly takes you alive."

- oOo -

He put down the pen and closed the notebook he had been writing in, smiling in satisfaction at the work he had completed. Everything was going according to plan, falling into place perfectly. And it wouldn't be long until he reached his final goal.

"Soon, my love," he whispered to the photograph tacked onto the wall. A woman with white-striped hair and clear green eyes smiled back at him. "Very, very soon."

----

~ missy42 -- hope that helped to satisfy your concern with the last chapter. As you all can see, Remy never really had anything to apologize for in the first place. He's such a good boy. : )

* Next up *  
Finally, some answers! (Or _maybe_ just more questions...)


	16. The Hunt

**Disclaimer: **All right, someone opened the closet door. The disclaimer escaped and is now on the run. But don't panic! The proper authorities have been contacted and are now in the process of conducting a global manhunt for it. (Or would it be more politically correct to say disclaimer-hunt?)

**A/N: *** Wow, this is the longest I've taken to post a chapter! Sorry for the delay. I actually have no excuse that you'd be interested in hearing, so I won't even bother.

I call shout-outs time!

~ T., kez, Charisma, dragonseizer, Jean1, Solitaire -- Thanks for the reviews!

~ ishandahalf -- _Cliffhanger (klif*hang'er), n. _ 1. Anything that gets me in trouble with readers. ; ) (But I have to say they sure are fun to write!)

~ Lucky439 -- A noble sacrifice and one that is greatly appreciated. I'd hate to be around when your cat coughs up that sock-hairball! ; )

~ Disturbed Courtney -- Ooh! You're thinking of doing something evil, huh? Wait, let me get my list; I have a lot of those! Let's see... we did the whole drowning in a vat of boiling pickle juice... sausage link upside the head... hmm... how about cutting my hair with a weed whacker? ... No? Forcing me to watch back-to-back episodes of Barney, that big, purple dinosaur? ... Don't want to subject yourself to that monstrosity either, eh? Cutting off the power to my house so that I can no longer use the computer? ... Hey, to me _that_ is cruel and unusual punishment! Do you know how depressed I become when there are blackouts in our area?

~ ilovetidus -- A Mariko doll, huh? Damn! She's a found a way around my impenetrable Wolvie defense! Curse the man and his obsession with the leader of the Yashida clan! My life is now in danger because *he's* got raging hormones?!

~ Christy S. -- Well, that's good. I'm glad everyone else is going nuts, too. At least I'll have company when they wheel me into the mental institution after this fic is completed. We nutcases like to stick together, y'know. The more the merrier, I say. ; )

~ The Great Misanthrope! -- First off, I *love* your name! Kudos to you for thinking that up! Secondly, I feel my response to Christy S. applies to you as well, so we'll be saving you a seat! And lastly, yes, my muse *is* evil. He takes much pride in that fact and has recently decided to instruct me in his diabolical ways. ; )

~ V -- You have absolutely *nothing* to apologize for! I love getting *any* review, regardless if they're one word or one paragraph! And I know that I can count on you to help with increasing the review count each chapter, so for that I'm extremely grateful! : )

~ Malena -- *hands Malena stalker-shaped pin cushion* It's for them pins and needles that you said you were on. : ) Btw, I stopped by your site the other day. Very nice. I liked the color scheme you picked out. Very soothing and great to read against.

* Okay, shout-outs are done. You can go now. : )

**CHAPTER 16  
The Hunt**

"_Chère?"_ Remy called through the closed door.

A few moments later, when he received no response, he twisted the knob and felt the latch release. Silently, he slipped into her amply spaced bedroom in her family's New York home. _Now where is dat girl?_ he thought as he surveyed the empty room.

Both he and Rogue, as well as their respective security teams, had flown up from the Big Easy to the Big Apple earlier that day. They were only in town for a few hours, with the intention of attending an awards show in Manhattan, before returning to their home in New Orleans.

Remy smirked at the thought of 'their' home. Rogue had been living in the LeBeau residence for the past three weeks, taking to the estate as if she had been roaming through it her entire life. Within the span of two days, she was able to memorize the layout of the main house, as well as the numerous guesthouses and other structures that littered the grounds. At the time, he had teased her about how her observation skills were almost good enough to become a fledgling thief.

Although it had still officially been his downtime, Remy found himself working on the new material for his next album. It would have been hard not to, what with Rogue constantly scribbling away, trying to jot down the songs running through her head. They had spent more than one afternoon sprawled out on a blanket underneath the Louisiana sky, playing around with one idea after another.

Thankfully, in the time that she had been living with him, there'd been no further letters or phone calls from the man stalking her. It would have been blissful to believe that he'd simply dropped out of existence, but that would have been too presumptuous of them. On the rare occasion when she would leave the estate grounds, she was always accompanied by Remy and at least two bodyguards. Any other arrangement and Logan would forbid her to leave the house.

Emerging unsuccessfully from his search of the adjacent bathroom, Remy contemplated on her possible whereabouts. He had left her in the room a little over an hour before, giving her time to prepare for the night's ceremony. Since there were no traces of either the hair and make-up artist or the stylist, he had to assume that Rogue was now fully dressed and ready to leave. The only challenge left at the moment was actually finding her.

A slight breeze rustled the locks of his hair. Turning, he noticed the open balcony doors and the billowing drapes that framed the entryway. With a quiet smile, he headed in that direction. No doubt she was out there admiring the fantastic sight of the city's skyline. As he got a better view of the doorway and the area beyond it, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. The balcony was empty, devoid of any person, and the doors that lead to Rogue's bedroom had been left wide-open.

_Dieu, no!_ he thought in desperation. _Dere's no way dat bastard could have gotten inta here! Merde! I shouldn' have let her outta m'sight even f'r a sec--_

"You okay, sugah? You look like yoah jus' about ta have a coronary."

Remy whirled around at the sound of her voice. She was standing in a far corner to his left, half hidden in the shadows of the fading twilight. His pounding heart, just settling down with the relief of finding her safe, began a mad dance once again as he took in her appearance. She was clad in a pristine-white pantsuit, pinstriped with almost unperceivable lines of pale jade. What little light remained from the heavens glistened off the skin exposed by the suit's deep neckline. Her luscious auburn and white curls had been swept up into a simple chignon at the base of her neck. If it were at all possible, she was becoming more and more beautiful each time that he saw her.

She shifted her weight, somewhat uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. "Ya don' like it, do ya, Remy?" she asked apprehensively. "Ah would've worn somethin' a bit more ladylike an' fancy fo' t'night, but Ah needed th' pockets. Logan won't let me out o' th' house 'less Ah take mah cell phone with me." To prove her point, she extracted the thin, compact device from within her blazer pocket.

"_Non, chèrie,"_ he approached her with a look that was nothing short of awestruck, "you look... incredible."

Blushing slightly at the compliment and the expression on his face, she whispered, "Thank you." She smiled when she noticed his attire for the evening. He was dressed in a custom-made suit that hung off the contours of his body flawlessly. The pure black of his dress shirt and tie set off the suit's deep, rich shade of burgundy. _Leave it ta Remy ta take th' traditional three-piece suit an' turn it inta somethin' a li'l more unconventional,_ she mused as he wrapped his arms about her waist and grinned down at her.

"Speakin' o' incredible," she continued, running her hands along his sleeves. "Are ya tryin' ta distract me from our evenin' plans with yoah fine self, suh?"

"I have no idea what ya talkin' 'bout, _petite,"_ he replied innocently. "You ready t'go an' face de sharks an' other mean fishes o' de sea?"

"Yeah. You reckon th' pre-show preparations are ovah already?"

He glanced at his watch before nodding. "Dey should be movin' ev'rybody inta de venue by now. At least dis year we've got an excuse t'dispense wit' de red carpet media walk."

"Didn' look like we had much o' a choice really, even if we wanted ta walk through that. Logan's already on edge 'bout t'night's show; he would've never let me go if we'd added th' carpet walk an' aftah parties ta th' itinerary."

Bending, he whispered huskily into her ear, "How 'bout we f'rget de whole t'ing, _chère,_ an' have our own li'l ceremony back home?"

She playfully removed herself from his embrace. "Nice try, Cajun, but no dice. Ah know how you don' like these shows all that much, but we can't cancel at th' very last minute."

"Yeah? Says who?"

"Says me. 'Sides, yoah up fo' too many awards t'night ta _not_ show yoah face."

He scoffed at her statement. "So are you, _chère."_

"Well, you don' see me tryin' ta weasel mah way out th' backdoor, now do you?"

_Damn. Walked right inta dat one,_ he realized with a mental chuckle.

"We'll be out o' there before ya know it, sugah," she promised, taking hold of his hand and leading him back into the house.

"Yeah, after three hours o' sittin' on m'backside," he grumbled. Award shows were definitely _not_ his favorite part of the business. They required him to sit quietly for too long a time for his taste. _Maybe I c'n sneak in a deck o' cards an' get a poker game goin' wit' de boys,_ he thought with a sigh, resigning himself to an evening of unspeakable boredom.

- oOo -

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it, sugah?" Rogue smiled up at Remy. "You even walked away three statues heavier."

He grinned in return. "Ya didn' do so bad yaself, _chère._ Looks like ya gon' haveta clear out some space on ya trophy shelf."

The couple was completely encircled by an amalgamation of their security teams, slowly making their way through the theatre where the awards show had just concluded.

Logan turned to face them. "We're meetin' Sam at the back entrance," he explained as the group entered the venue's innermost corridors. "Front's too crowded with all the media yo-yo's out there."

"How ev'ryone manages ta leave one o' these things at all is beyond me," Rogue mumbled to Remy.

"'Sactly m'point, _belle._ Dat's why we shouldn' even bother wit' goin' in de first place," he quipped in return.

"Rogue," Karen said from beside her. When her assistant had her attention, she subtly indicated a circle of people standing a few feet ahead of them. In the center of the group, Rogue caught sight of a familiar face.

"Logan, hold up a sec; Ah wanna say hello ta Charles."

"Darlin', I don' think -- "

"Two seconds," she promised, already knowing the argument he was about to put up. She knew that Logan was worried about the tightness of security at the moment, and she also knew that she wasn't being much help in that department. But there were certain things that simply could not be done in the music industry. One of which was running into the president of your recording label and not stopping to say hello. "Charles!" she called.

The head of X-Gene Records turned at the sound of his name. Catching sight of two of his most in-demand artists, he smiled and excused himself from the people surrounding him.

"Rogue, Remy," he acknowledged as their bodyguards broke their formation to let him pass. By way of greeting, he kissed Rogue on the cheek and then proceeded to shake Remy's hand. "Congratulations, you two. You did very well for yourselves tonight. Needless to say, I am proud of you both." He smiled warmly.

"_Merci, m'sieu."_

"Are you two on your way out?" continued Charles. At their nod, he added, "May I walk with you? I don't particularly look forward to the media frenzies that accompany these events."

"They're houndin' you too?" Rogue inquired as they resumed their trek to the back exits.

"Unfortunately, they go after anyone who they feel has any kind of information to feed their stories," Charles pointed out. He turned from their conversation when one of his bodyguards called his attention.

"Sir, the limo is waiting in the designated area. Gregory notes that there's a small group of media personnel in the vicinity as well," the man reported.

"Thank you, Marcus." Charles redirected his focus back to Remy and Rogue. "It seems we won't be getting away so easily tonight."

Remy grinned wryly. "When have we ever, _mon ami?"_

"Got a point there, sugah," added Rogue as they came to a stop just before the door that would lead them outside.

"You ready?" Logan called out.

"Let's jus' get outta here, Logan. Ah'm itchin' ta get back home."

"Right, darlin'. You stay close ta us, you hear me? Let's go."

With nods of acknowledgement, both Hank and Vic pushed open the exterior doors and began to move the group out into the cool night air. As soon as the media caught sight of the entourage, they immediately descended upon them like a swarm of locust. Rogue felt both Remy and Karen, who were positioned on either side of her, press even closer toward her as the crowd lunged forward.

"Marcus!" Charles called from in front of her. Yelling was the only possible way of being heard over the din made by the sea of people. "Is this your idea of a 'small group'?"

If Marcus had even bothered to offer a reply, it was lost in the noise and the constant shoving of bodies against one another. Maneuvering through the mob was next to impossible. When one person was pushed out of the way, another would just as quickly take his place, proving that the risk of bodily injury was simply part of a reporter's job description. The best they could hope for was a slow but somewhat steady path toward their waiting vehicles; a task that proved easier said than done.

_This is not good,_ Rogue thought after what seemed like hours, trapped in the center of a storm. _It's like trudgin' through a bowl o' molasses!_

Through her frustration and the shouted questions of the press, she felt Remy's hand tighten on her own. She lifted her gaze to his and, without needing to exchange words, understood the look in his eyes. He was trying to reassure her that everything would be all right, that the situation would soon be over, and they'd be on their way back to New Orleans in no time.

Grateful for his simple gesture, she returned it with a gentle squeeze of her own, and then refocused her attention on making her way through the multitude of people surrounding them.

They only had a few more feet left to go when she suddenly heard Logan curse from beside Remy. His hand was covering the transmitter in his ear and he looked as if he wanted to inflict pain on someone. At her questioning expression, he explained, "Sam's stuck a few cars down. Some jack-wipe is blockin' the street an' he can't get any closer."

"So now what?" she asked. The newly found calm that Remy had induced was beginning to waver. "We gonna turn 'round an' head back inta th' buildin'?"

"An' go t'rough all dis again, _chère?_ I don' t'ink so," Remy put in.

"Cajun's right, kid. Keep movin' forward. Hopefully by the time we get up front, Sam'll be up there too. If not, we're doin' a few more feet o' walkin'."

"If Ah didn' love this job so much Ah'd swear that it was gettin' more an' more like a circus ev'ryday," Rogue muttered under her breath as she did what Logan instructed.

From behind them, they heard the high-pitched shrieking of a woman's voice. "Remy! Remy!"

Rogue found her lover's hand being torn away from her grasp as the young woman somehow managed to break in between Peter and Logan, and take a hold of Remy's arm. The two bodyguards pulled the eager fan away from him and forcefully moved her back into the crowd. Angered at having been brushed aside so easily, the woman redoubled her efforts. This time she pulled out a small can of pepper spray from inside her pocket, directly aiming the substance into Logan's and Peter's faces.

With grunts of pain, both men covered their eyes but didn't fall to the ground. As best they could, they attempted to keep the surging mob from swelling forward and rushing into the void that had been created in the security shell.

"_Merde!"_ Remy exclaimed as he turned to help them. Despite their valiant efforts, the two men stood a very real chance of being trampled by the demanding masses. "Damien! I need ya help, _homme!"_

"You got it, boss." The other man was at his side instantly, disarming the woman before coming to their aid. "Hank! Cover my ass, man!" The remaining bodyguards regrouped and formed an even tighter circle around Rogue, Karen and Xavier.

"Sam! Where are ya, kid? We're dying out here!" Guido yelled into his transmitter. After listening for several moments, he hollered, "Dammit! We don't have five minutes! Get your Kentucky-fried butt over here!"

Next to her, Rogue heard Karen's cry of surprise just before she became aware of the hand closing around the lapel of her blazer. Gasping, she felt herself being drawn outward, toward the white-haired man who had caught her. Unnerved by the thought of being dragged into the crowd and separated from the others, she began to blindly struggle against the hold on her.

"Kindly remove your hands from the lady, sir," Hank growled. She watched in amazement as he grasped the arm that had ensnared her and effortlessly broke its grip. He then brushed the man aside and warned him menacingly, "Attempt that again, my friend, and the next time I won't let you keep the hand." Over his shoulder, he called to the other security members, "This is getting dangerous! We need to get them out of here!"

"You cannot possibly wait for your driver to get through this mess," Charles advised, raising his voice to be heard. He pointed to a sleek, black limo waiting along the curb. "You may use my car."

Motioning to Vic and Guido, Hank said, "It doesn't look like we have an alternative." Slowly, they pushed their way through the last of the media and created a pathway to the awaiting vehicle. Once they reached their destination, Hank pulled open the door and ordered Rogue, "Get in."

"No," she replied adamantly. "Not without Remy."

"Look we don't have time for this, kid," barked Guido, guiding both Xavier and Karen into the limo. "You need to get into the damn stretch an' let us go back for the others!"

"Guido -- "

"I know, kid," he cut her off, recognizing the raw emotion that crept into her eyes. He softened his tone before assuring her, "I'll look after him. I promise."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Be careful, y'all," she cautioned before slipping through the open doorway.

Hank looked to his colleagues. "One of us should go with them."

"I'll go," Vic volunteered, disappearing into the car as well and closing the door behind him. Seconds later, the limo pulled away and was soon navigating down the street.

Guido quirked an eyebrow in Hank's direction. "Back into the lion's den?"

"Without a doubt," the other man countered as they dove back into the ocean of people in search of the straying members of their party.

- oOo -

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Rogue," Karen declared confidently for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Sam was only a couple of feet away, and with one less celebrity to fight over, the press would have probably calmed down a bit."

_Not likely,_ Rogue thought despondently. Aloud, she said, "Thanks, sugah."

"Are you all right, child?" Charles asked her, concern filling his voice. He was settled next to Remy's bodyguard on the seat across from both she and Karen. "Were you injured when that man grabbed you?"

She was abruptly reminded of the frightening feeling of being hauled forward against her will. The memory caused an involuntary shudder to crawl up her spine. She'd caught an unwanted glimpse of the man's eyes. The cold, ice-blue orbs had stared at her with an expression that had appeared soulless and hollow. A look that made her unconsciously think of her father's eyes, maddened and wielding a butcher knife so many years ago.

Despite her misgivings, she answered, "No, Charles, Ah'm fine. Thanks." She didn't want to concern anyone needlessly. They were safely free of the situation, unlike Remy and the rest of the security teams. Her anxieties were best kept worrying about their well-being instead.

"We've got a shadow," Vic suddenly informed them, turning from where he was peering out of the rear windshield.

Karen looked up in surprise. "What?"

"'Bout two cars down," he continued. "Dark sedan, weavin' a little inside his lane. He's been on us for a couple blocks now."

Rogue searched the street behind them from over the two men's shoulders. Sure enough she caught sight of a vehicle subtly shifting left and right, trying to find an opening in traffic to advance closer.

"Someone's following us?" Karen asked anxiously. She craned her neck to see for herself. "Great. Now what?"

"Now we lose them." Vic opened the channel that would allow him to speak with the limo's driver.

After the relay of instructions, the vehicle increased slightly in speed and deviated from its original route. All four occupants in the rear of the automobile turned to take note of the 'shadow's' reaction. Sure enough, it surged forward, overtaking the car in front of it and proceeded down the same road as the limo.

Rogue sighed in resignation. "Ah guess it's safe ta say that he's got more in mind than a late-night drive. Who's up fo' stoppin' th' stretch an' askin' real nice like what this fool wants?" she commented dryly.

Regardless of her nonchalant demeanor, Rogue was becoming uneasy. She had no proof, but for some reason she was sure that the person driving the sedan was the same white-haired, blue-eyed man from outside the theatre. The thought caused another shudder to go through her. She knew that she could entrust her safety to both Vic and Xavier's security, but without Logan and Guido's protection, or even the rest of Remy's team, she felt vulnerable and somewhat easy prey.

The silent tension that had fallen over all those within the limousine soon became palpable. Every now and then, Vic would order the driver to change directions in an attempt to shake the car behind them. Finally, after thirty minutes of ducking and weaving through the streets of New York, Vic turned to them and said, "I think we've lost him."

In relief, Karen sank further into her seat. "Thank goodness."

"I wouldn't celebrate jus' yet," Vic told her. "We need a place to rendezvous with the others. We can scratch goin' back to Rogue's place. Whoever was followin' us would probably think we're headed there."

"You may stay at my residence while you wait," offered Charles.

Vic shook his head. "No good either. Even though we don' know for sure, we're goin' to assume that he recognized both you and your car. He might try your place next."

"What about a hotel?" Rogue suggested.

"Too accessible. Somethin' more private."

"Momma's got some property upstate, but it'll take hours ta get there."

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Charles spoke up, "I have an apartment here in the city. We would have to retrace our steps and travel across town, but it's fairly private. Only a select number of people know about it."

Vic took his statement under consideration. Eventually he nodded, saying, "That'll have to do for now."

- oOo -

"_Homme,_ next time I agree t'come t'one o' dese award shows, slap me upside de head an' kick m'Cajun ass back down t'Nawlins," Remy said to Hank as they slammed the limousine door shut.

It had been a close call but all six men had made it out of the area fairly unscathed. Once Hank and Guido had made it back to them, it'd only been a matter of elbowing their way through the unrelenting crowd. Thankfully, Sam had been waiting at the curb.

"Indubitably," Hank replied. "You can be certain of that." He glanced down at Remy's arm, where several bloody gashes ran from his elbow to his wrist. "We better clean that up before it gets infected."

Remy nodded as his bodyguard extracted a first aid kit from a side compartment. "Dat _femme_'s nails should be considered a lethal weapon."

"Indeed. She was a tad overzealous to get near you."

Damien snorted from his position across from them. Both he and Guido were tending to their injured colleagues. "You ain't kiddin'. If Remy asked her to, she probably would've stripped naked in front of all those people." With a sly grin, he added, "I'd pay good money to see that."

Sam looked over his shoulder from the driver's seat, "Where's Rogue?"

"She caught a ride with Xavier," answered Logan, drawing in a sharp breath as Guido washed the irritant out of his eyes. "Along with Karen an' Vic."

"The three of you will need to see a doctor," Hank lectured as he cleaned Remy's wounds. "Especially Logan and Peter. Your eyes require proper medical attention. If they go untreated for too long it may cause permanent damage to your corneas."

"We can pull some strings an' get a doctor up ta the house later," Logan dismissed. "Right now I wanna know where Rogue is so we can get her out o' this city as soon as possible." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

"Dammit, Logan! Keep still, will ya?" demanded Guido as he struggled with his task. "I'm gettin' more of this stuff on your clothes than in your eye."

Logan ignored him and proceeded to dial up Rogue's cell. "Quit yer grippin', Guido. Ya sound like an ol' woman." After several attempts, he slammed his finger into the 'End' button and scowled. "I can't get through. Flamin' piece o' junk."

With his free hand, Remy drew out his own cell and tried to get in touch with Rogue. However, he soon came up with the same results. "She can' be dat far away, c'n she?"

Logan shook his head. "No. She prob'ly hasn't turned the thing back on yet. Remember they made us all switch off our phones back at the theatre 'cause they said the signals would mess up with their radio feeds."

"So where do we find them?" asked Damien.

Peter spoke up. "It is probable that they would have gone back to the house to meet us there."

"Petey's right. That's the most likely place ta find 'em," Logan agreed, before calling out, "Sam, we're headin' home."

- oOo -

"So let me get this straight," said Rogue as she wandered through the living room of Charles' apartment, admiring the pleasant ambiance of the area. "You have a house in NYC, plus this apartment, _and_ a mansion in Westchester?"

"And all in one state?" Karen added from her seat on the couch. "Not much for browsing, are you?"

Charles smiled. "The mansion is my family's home, but yes, the deed is in my name. However, I rarely have the opportunity to go there. The house in the city is where I reside from day to day. This apartment is more of a getaway for me -- a haven, if you will -- whenever the complications of work become overwhelming."

"Doesn't yoah office jus' get in touch with you here whenevah you ain't around?"

"No doubt they would, if they knew of it. The lease is in someone else's name." He walked over to the bar. "May I offer you a drink, ladies?"

"A gin and tonic, please," Karen requested.

"Rogue?"

She shook her head, settling down next to her assistant. "No, Ah'm fine, thanks."

Charles soon joined them in the sitting area, handing Karen her drink. He noticed the tension in both their postures. They were practically on the edge of their seats, as if ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Not that he could really fault them; not with the belief that someone was out there, waiting to pounce on them when given the opportunity.

"Everything will be all right," he attempted to soothe them. "Aside from your bodyguard, there are two of my own security personnel with us. I'm sure they will be more than enough to keep whoever was following us at bay."

Rogue nodded but still fiddled nervously with the edge of a throw pillow. "Where is Vic?" she asked of Karen.

The other woman took a long, calming swallow of the drink in her hands before answering, "He went to check the perimeter. Then he said he would call Logan and tell him where we are so that we can fly back to New Orleans tonight like we planned."

Charles regarded them with curiosity. "I thought you lived in your family's home here in New York," he remarked.

"Ah do. It's jus' that Ah've... had reason ta move in with Remy fo' a li'l while."

He didn't press the issue any further. Rather, he gestured to the bedrooms down the hall. "You may rest in the guestrooms if you like, while you wait for the others to arrive."

"Ah couldn't sleep if Ah wanted ta," Rogue replied, setting the pillow down and trying to at least pretend to be comfortable on the couch.

Karen leaned forward and placed her glass on the coffee table. "I'd like to use the bathroom, if you wouldn't mind."

"Certainly. It's the first door on your right." Once she had gone, he faced Rogue once more. "I don't mean to repeat myself twice in one night, but are you sure you're all right? You look pale."

"Ah guess these types o' things will do that ta a body." She mustered up a weak smile for his benefit. "Honestly, Ah'll feel a lot better once Logan an' them get here an' we're on our way back south."

"I would imagine," he said in agreement. He noted that despite her efforts to appear comfortable, there was still a stiffness to her limbs. He made the decision to distract her from the current conditions by discussing other things. "Have you begun work on your next record yet?"

"Some," she returned, grateful for the diversion, although her focus was never completely off the situation at hand. "A song here an' there, but Ah haven't been back in th' studio since we finished th' last one."

"That's good to hear. The sales from 'Where Are You?' were phenomenal, even better than your first."

"Ah jus' hope it's somethin' that we can -- " She was cut off by a loud thump from one of the bedrooms. As Charles had predicted earlier, she shot off the couch faster than he could have blinked. "What was that?"

"I don't know," he confessed, also rising to his feet. He turned in the direction of the noise and called out, "Marcus?"

After several strained moments, his call was met by a chilling silence that echoed throughout the apartment. It was as if every noise had simultaneously ceased to exist and all that remained was a pregnant void of stillness. Even the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator seemed to have stopped in accordance with the hush that had settled over them.

_Sweet Lord, he found us._ Rogue could feel her heart pounding and her breath coming in short gasps. She tried vainly to compose herself and terminate the various mental images that were incessantly bombarding her thoughts. She wondered about Vic and the other bodyguards, and why they hadn't answered Charles' call. _What if somethin' happened ta them? They could be hurt an' need our help._ She took a step forward and prepared to call out to them again. But before she had the opportunity to do so, the lights went out, plunging them into a pitch-black darkness.

----

**A/N:** * All right, now before you think of killing me for the lack of promised answers in this chapter, let me explain. Originally, I intended for this particular part to be twice as long. However, considering the fact that it took this much time to get Chapter 16 out -- at _half_ its original length -- then there was no telling when I would have gotten the rest done. I thought it was better to split one long chapter into two shorter ones so that I wouldn't get sidetracked. It's either that or I just wanted to cliffhanger you guys again. But then you'll never know, now will you? ; )

* For this story, Charles has the ability to walk.

* Next up *  
The much awaited answers that have been plaguing us -- you, actually -- since Chapter 3!  
(This time they're _really_ coming, I swear!)


	17. Jeopardy

**Disclaimer: **Due to the lack of space and the sheer laziness of the author, the disclaimer for this chapter was cast into the fiery depths of the unknown. It is unforeseen as to when it will be making another appearance, but rest assured that steps are being taken to cinch its safe and speedy return. Thank you for your continued support and patronage.

**A/N: ***turns to muse* Nobody respects the stuffed Wolvie doll anymore. They're still making threats! I think it's time we started seriously considering relocating our base of operations to another galaxy. ; )

~ T., Lucky439, V, Pg13Gp8!, Christy S., Jean1 -- Thanks for the encouragement!

~ Chez -- Thank you for the suggestion! Way back when I first brainstormed for this fic, I really did try to wrack my brain for ANY way to let Remy have his red-on-black eyes. (Lord knows how much I love 'em!) But I didn't want to come up with just any ol' reason. I wanted something that was probable and, in one way or another, made some kind of sense. For the life of me, I couldn't figure anything out so I finally conceded and made them brown. Your idea is interesting and could very well work to make the irises of Remy's eyes appear red. However, contacts don't affect the sclera of a person's eye, so he'd end up with red-on-white eyes instead of black. Nonetheless, I sincerely appreciate the effort! Good try!

~ Disturbed Courtney -- Tsk tsk tsk. Almost invoking an it's-unladylike-to-swear lecture from your father! On account of a fic? Brave girl. I'll be sure to return the favor as soon as I get to read the next chapter of _Street Livin'._ Don't sweat it though. My friends have good-naturedly called me that a number of times. At least, I _think_ it was good-naturedly... ; )

~ ishandahalf (as well as anyone else who is planning to slash a line into my skin for every chapter I've ended in a cliffhanger. *backs away in fear as nearly every reader stands up wielding a sharp object*) -- Honestly, the cliffhanger situation doesn't look as if it's going to get any better. *runs away screaming bloody murder.*

~ kez -- *jots down several notes on clipboard, then calls over shoulder to men in white lab coats* That's another one who'll be joining me in the nuthouse, boys. Don't forget the straitjacket. ; )

~ Neners -- I know I already told you this through email but thank you again for the kind words!

~ Rupeshwari -- Hey, I got the chapter out sooner than I expected! Just a touch of sleep deprivation here and there. : )

* This part of the story was a little difficult for me to write. I wanted to make it as perfect as I could. But in my zealousness to NOT screw it up, I think I may have overlooked some things. So if someone comes across anything odd, any holes in the plotline, please let me know so I can try and correct them.

**CHAPTER 17  
Jeopardy**

_If Ah'd raised mah hand two inches from mah face Ah still wouldn't have known it was there. It was jus' that dark. Like nights down in Mississippi when th' moon's gotten as small as it could evah get, playin' hide-an'-seek behind a cloud. Even worse, actu'lly. At least ol' Luna would give off some kind o' light, no matter how little. Around me, it was jus'... black. _

_Ah was tryin' ta tell mahself not ta panic, that it was jus' a busted fuse or somethin'. Vic an' th' boys would take care o' it an' ev'rythin' would be fine again. Truth be told, Ah was fightin' a losin' battle. Mah heart was jackhammerin' so hard Ah thought it'd jus' about jump outta mah chest. First a loud noise from one o' th' bedrooms an' then a sudden power failure? Who was Ah foolin'? Chances o' those two events bein' random occurrences were so slim they outta be spokespersons fo' a national dietin' campaign. _

_Ha! Now Ah was makin' jokes? A sure sign that Ah was gettin' fidgety. Guess Remy was rubbin' off on me more than Ah thought. That boy rarely got nervous, but whenevah he was, he'd start shootin' off his mouth like you wouldn't believe. _

_Soon as Remy came ta mind, Ah began ta calm down slightly. Not much, mind you, but it was a start. Ah had enough sense ta **not** call out ta Charles. If th' nutcase aftah me was in th' apartment, Ah sure as hell didn' want him ta sneak up behind me in th' dark. _

_Extendin' mah leg ta th' left, Ah felt th' edge o' th' coffee table. Ah started makin' mah way back t'ward th' wall. Ah wasn't exactly th' most graceful person at that moment, bumpin' inta things ev'ry now an' again, but at least Ah got there eventu'lly. Ah had no idea where Ah was gonna go aftah that. Out th' window? Down th' fire escape? Ah didn' even know if Ah was in any real danger. What if Ah'd rush out o' th' apartment only ta get caught defenseless out on th' street? _

_Before Ah had time ta contemplate mah next move, th' lights popped back on. Now aftah all that scroungin' 'round in th' dark, you'd think Ah would've been real grateful fo' that li'l blessin'. Ah wasn't. Th' room Ah was in was completely empty. Charles was nowhere ta be seen. _

_What li'l calm Ah'd been able ta scrap t'gether left me in one breath. Th' jackhammer started up again. So now th' score was a loud noise, a sudden power failure, an' a disappearin' Charles routine. Ta say that somethin' didn' feel quite right was an understatement at that point. _

_When Ah was a li'l kid, Ah used ta hate it when th' house was too quiet. At least when Daddy was stompin' 'round from room ta room Ah would know where he was an' make sure Ah was somewhere else. But Charles' apartment was like a crypt... dead silence. Like Ah was th' only soul there. _

_What in th' world was Ah doin'? Ah was standin' there bein' all scared an' such when th' othahs could've been hurt an' needed help. Ah had ta find them, an' Ah couldn't do that panickin' mahself inta a hole. _

_Takin' a deep breath, Ah started across th' livin' room, pickin' up a slim, marble lamp along th' way. Ah might've been struck with a sudden heroic streak but Ah wasn't stupid. Ah needed some kind o' weapon ta beat ovah this guy's head in case Ah ran inta him while lookin' fo' th' othahs. Albeit it wouldn't have been much help if he pulled out a gun or a knife on me, but it was better than goin' empty-handed. _

_Ah slowed mah steps as Ah got closer ta th' hallway. Ah was strainin' mah hearin', tryin' ta pick up any kind o' sound. Nothin'. Buildin' up th' very last o' mah courage, Ah turned inta th' hall. _

_An' screamed when a man suddenly stepped out in front o' me._

- oOo -

"Where de hell is she?!" Remy demanded as he paced furiously beside the fireplace. They had arrived at Rogue's home ten minutes earlier, only to discover that Xavier hadn't dropped either her or Karen off.

"Remy, calm down," said Hank. "She's with Charles; she's safe."

"_Non, mon ami._ I'll only consider her safe when she's here wit' us."

"Vic's with her. An' so is Xavier's team. Kid's fine," Guido tried to reassure him.

Logan pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth. "Gumbo's right. Been over an hour since they left the theatre. They should've been here by now."

"Maybe Chuck's showin' her the city," Damien suggested.

"You mean the city that she's lived in fer the past eleven years?" Logan asked dryly as the other man shrugged.

"Perhaps the media followed them," commented Peter, "and they are trying to lose them."

The room fell silent as the idea sank into their minds. It was an innocent enough thought. But as they stood there contemplating, it slowly evolved into something more menacing. Remy was the only one to voice what they were all suddenly thinking.

"It could be de media," he said, the scowl on his face deepening, "or it could be her stalker."

"We shouldn't immediately jump to that conclusion," Hank pointed out. "We can't be certain that that's the reason for their absence."

"We're gonna assume the worse," stated Logan. "First thing ta do is check Xavier's estate; make sure they aren't there."

And with that, he left the room. The others followed him out the door.

- oOo -

Instinctually, Rogue swung the lamp at the figure looming over her. She would have hit the man squarely in the head had he not ducked at the very last second. With a dull thud, the lamp made contact with the nearby wall. Hands reached over and forced the makeshift club from her grasp.

"Child, what the devil are you doing?!"

Startled, Rogue looked up. "Charles!" she exclaimed, righting herself and throwing her arms around him. "You scared me half ta death!"

"It seems that should be the other way around," he remarked, pulling away from her and entering the living room once again. "After all, I was the one who almost had his head flattened into the wall."

She smiled apologetically. "Sorry 'bout that." Settling back down on the couch, she asked, "Where were you jus' now?"

"I was investigating that noise we heard earlier. It turns out that it was only Vic. He wasn't feeling too well and decided to lie down in one of the rooms. He tripped over an ottoman and fell onto the floor."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's fine. Nothing but a broken cell phone and a mildly bruised ego once Marcus saw what had happened."

"An' th' blackout?"

"A power shortage. I'm told it happens frequently here, on account of some road excavation they're doing in this area. I apologize if it frightened you."

"So no one's broken in?"

"No, no one has. I'm confident that whoever was following us won't be able to find our location. There is nothing that connects this apartment to either you or me. He would have no reason to look for us here." He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "It's fairly late already. Are you certain that you wouldn't like to lie down?" When she shook her head, he continued, "Well then, are you hungry? Would you care to join me in a late dinner?"

"Sounds good."

He smiled and turned toward the kitchen. "Now I must tell you, I'm not the most accomplished cook in the world."

"No problem, sugah." She raised her voice so that he could hear her from within the kitchen. "Ah'll eat pretty much anythin'."

- oOo -

_De boys an' I were on our way back from Xavier's. Nobody over dere had seen or heard anyt'in' from Charles since he left f'r de show hours ago. Dey weren' sure where he was. _

_Tried callin' Rogue again on her cell; still couldn' get t'rough. Even Vic an' Karen weren't answerin' deir phones. Somet'in' was wrong. I could feel it. Somet'in' dat made me desp'rately wan' t'find Rogue an' make sure dat she was okay. _

_Merde. I hated not knowin' where she was. Reminded me o' dose weeks when she was hidin' out in Canada wit'out tellin' me. But somehow dis time it was much worse. Didn' really know why dat was, jus' did. Gut instinct, I s'pposed. Tante Mattie would've prob'ly called it some kind o' omen, a warnin' from de 'higher powers.' Truthfully, didn' much care. Was too busy wrackin' m'brain f'r poss'ble places she could be. _

_Not dat I was doin' so good in dat department. M' imagination kept runnin' off on its own, showin' me images o' what dat damn stalker would do if he got his hands on her. Didn' want t't'ink dat he could be de reason f'r m'bad feelin's. M'gut was doin' nose dives down t'my shoes already. I swore by all dat I held holy if dat fils de pute [son of a bitch] hurt her in any way, I'd see his still-beatin' heart ripped from his chest. _

_I must've been seethin' too loud 'cause Henri rested his hand on m'shoulder, tryin' t'calm me down. Homme had good intentions but bad timin'. Dere was no way I could've eased up on m' boilin' rage at dat point. How could I when de most important t'ing in m'life was bein' threatened? _

_Closed m'eyes, wishin' wit' all m'soul dat she could hear me. Where are you, chèrie? _

_- oOo -_

_Ah'd said that Ah wasn't all that tired, but honestly Ah was a little. All that worryin' -- 'bout Remy an' th' othahs, an' then 'bout th' stalker -- appeared ta be takin' its toll on mah system. Maybe Ah wasn't as strong or as invulnerable as Ah'd like ta think Ah was. _

_Ah was seriously reconsiderin' Charles' first offer when mah stomach growled. Remy would've been laughin' his backside off at me right about then. He always teased me 'bout mah big appetite. What could Ah say? Ah was from th' South. We ate big down there. But judgin' from th' noises Ah still heard from th' kitchen, dinner was still a li'l ways comin'. Ah sighed a bit. There was no way any kind o' sleep could find me on an empty belly. _

_Not bein' able ta sit around twiddlin' mah thumbs until it was time ta eat, Ah stood up an' tried ta find somethin' that would occupy mah time. Some artwork hung from th' opposite wall, an' a small bookcase was set in th' corner. Normally, Ah wouldn't mind examin' them, but Ah was jus' too weary ta really appreciate either one. Ah wanted somethin' that required a li'l less brain activity. _

_Mah eyes wandered back ta th' sittin' area an' caught sight o' somethin'. Bendin' down a bit, Ah noticed fo' th' first time th' shelf beneath th' coffee table. There were a number o' photo albums underneath an' Ah pulled several o' them out. Ah figured that if th' albums were private Charles wouldn't have put them in such easy reach o' houseguests. _

_Th' first album Ah opened was mostly made up o' people in th' music industry: producers, songwriters, recordin' artists; people that Charles had business contacts with. Ah recognized a lot o' them. In fact, Ah'd worked with a number o' them on mah own records at one time or anothah. There was even a shot o' Remy with Charles at what looked like a release party. _

_Ah ran mah finger ovah Remy's image, as if th' gesture brought him that much closer ta where Ah was. Th' picture was smilin' up at me with that devilish grin he seemed ta have been born with. That smirk that made him look both innocent an' so unbelievably sexy at th' same time. It was as if Ah could actu'lly feel his lovin' arms wrap around me an' his warm breath whisperin' in mah ear. _

_With one last longin' glance, Ah shut th' picture book. It always hurt ta remember that he wasn't with me. Ah s'pposed livin' with him fo' th' past three weeks spoiled me considerably. Ah'd fo'gotten what it was like ta be without him. Th' blissful li'l vacation we had would have ta end some time, since both o' us were workin' on material fo' our upcomin' records. _

_Mutterin' a curse that Momma would have scolded me fo' -- but would've done Logan proud -- Ah reached fo' th' second album. That book had a more intimate feel ta it, filled with personal photos o' friends an' fam'ly. There was one picture that drew mah attention. It showed a portrait o' Charles an' a pretty, young woman, as well as a small boy. Fo' some reason th' boy looked familiar ta me, but Ah couldn't quite place him. Aftah a few moments o' tryin', Ah gave up mah li'l guessin' game an' pulled th' snapshot from its protective coverin'. Turnin' it ovah, it simply read, 'Gabby and D.' _

_He must be a nephew or godson that Ah was introduced ta some time ago, that's why he seems so familiar, Ah thought as Ah slipped th' photo back inta place. _

_Further inta th' book, Ah came across a faded studio shot o' th' young woman. She looked as if she had jus' graduated from high school, all fresh-faced an' full o' wonder. Her smile was confident an' yet jus' a tad on th' shy side, like she hadn't wanted her picture taken all that much. Ah took th' photo out an' read th' back. 'Gabrielle Haller.' _

_Haller? _

_With tremblin' hands Ah scrambled back through th' previous pages 'til Ah got ta th' one Ah wanted ta see. Sure enough, th' woman had th' same dark hair an' dark eyes. Th' li'l boy in th' picture shared th' same shy/confident smile as th' woman he proudly stood next to. There was no doubt that they were mother an' son. Ah knew it in mah gut before Ah knew it in mah brain. D. Haller. David Haller._

"He is my son."

_Ah jumped up from th' spot on th' couch where Ah had sunken into. Never even heard Charles' approach from behind. Remy'd be disappointed that all his lessons on stealth an' alertness had gone ta waste. _

_Ah looked from th' photo ta Charles, not knowin' exactly what ta say. What was th' proper reaction when you'd jus' learned that th' president o' yoah recordin' label had a psychotic serial killer in his fam'ly? Ah was sorry that yoah son was arrested fo' rapin' an' slaughterin' those four innocent women?_

"Ah-Ah didn' know ya had a son."

"Almost no one does," _Charles replied, pullin' th' print o' th' young woman from mah grasp._ "His mother raised him. She and I were never married. We tried for several years to make it work, but our relationship was… complicated. She took primary custody of David."

_Ah knew Ah had no business whatsoevah askin', but curiosity got th' better o' me._ "What... happened?"

"To David, you mean. How did my son become a murderer?" _Ah watched as his eyes became distant, like he wasn't really speakin' ta me anymore._ "David has MPD, or Multiple Personality Disorder. There are a number of 'personas' residing in his psyche. At any given time, one of his personalities can 'click' on and he would seem like a completely different person. His illness had always been manageable, until his mother's death. From then on, his condition steadily declined. I had no choice but to have him committed to a mental facility last year."

_It was old pain, Ah could see. A wound that had been raw an' hadn't had th' chance ta completely heal. Somehow Ah got th' feelin' that he'd never really told this ta anyone else before. Ah was touched that he trusted me enough ta confide in me._

"Ah'm sorry ta hear that," _Ah whispered softly. Mah eyes wandered back ta th' picture o' th' small boy. He looked so innocent an' carefree. How could a handful o' years twist him so ruthlessly inta somethin' dangerous an' frightenin'?_ "Do you see him often?"

"No. I haven't seen David in months. But as I understand it, he's become quite famous as of late."

_Ah nodded slowly. He was referrin' ta all th' media coverage around th' citywide hunt fo' David when he'd escaped from th' mental institution. All those poor victims. It was hard ta equate that cold-blooded killer with th' smilin' kid in th' snapshot before me._

"Ah... Ah thought fo' a while that... that David was th' one aftah me," _Ah confessed ta Charles. Ah had no idea why Ah told him. Ah wasn't even able ta look at him while Ah did -- he was, aftah all, th' man's son. But fo' some reason Ah felt Ah should share somethin' personal like he'd done._ "Ah thought he was th' one followin' me... sendin' me letters an' gifts..." _Mah voice trailed off, not knowin' where ta go aftah that. _

_He was quiet fo' so long that Ah fin'lly raised mah head ta see what his reaction was. He was smilin' down at me in a reassurin' manner. Like Momma an' Reenie used ta do when Ah first started livin' with them an' was afraid Ah was gonna get paddled fo' doin' somethin' wrong._

"You thought my son was the one stalking you," _he said, with a wry grin. He reached ovah an' took mah hand in his, givin' it a li'l comfortin' pat._ "I find that truly ironic since I was the one who sent you those things."

- oOo -

Remy was two seconds shy of exploding. "What are we doin' back here?" he fumed, re-entering the Darkholme estate's living room. "We already know she ain' here."

"What would you rather do, Gumbo?" countered Logan. "Drive 'round the city with a megaphone an' see if she'll answer us?"

Wearily, Remy sank down into one of the chairs and ran a hand through his hair. "I hate bein' helpless."

"We all do, boss," Damien pointed out, resting his palms on the back of the sofa. "But like Logan said, what can we do but wait?"

"_Oui,_ we're sittin' here waitin' while some psycho's out dere huntin' her down."

They all turned at the sound of the front door slamming in the foyer. A few seconds, later Raven came into the entryway, her hands clenched into fists and her eyes shooting shards of ice.

"What have you done to my daughter, LeBeau?" she demanded furiously.

Remy rose to his feet in a gesture of respect that was, at that moment, completely lost on Raven. "_Rien_ [Nothing], _madame,"_ he stated quietly but firmly. "I have done not'in'."

She either hadn't heard his words or was deliberately ignoring them as she strode over to where he stood. Jabbing her finger into his chest, she hissed, "At Rogue's insistence, but against my better judgment, I entrusted my _only_ daughter into _your_ care. And then I receive a phone call from Rosemary saying you have no idea where she is! Perhaps you're not aware of the fact that there is a raving lunatic who has been after her for months!" She paused long enough to take a breath. "I have never particularly liked you, boy, and now I like you even less."

"That's enough, Raven," Logan interjected, physically getting in between the two as they stared each other down. "It ain't the Cajun's fault. There was a media ambush after the awards show an' we got separated. Rogue went with Xavier, Karen an' Vic. As far as we know, she's okay."

Throwing one final cold stare at Remy, Raven refocused her attention. "Have you tried her cell?"

Logan nodded. "Can't get through."

"What about Karen's? Or this Vic person's? Or even Xavier's estate?"

"Tried every one. Nothin'."

She seemed surprised at that revelation. "In that case, we -- "

" -- assume the worst," Logan finished for her. "Way ahead o' ya." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone. "I'm gonna get in touch with Cassidy over at the NYPD, see if he can help us with anythin'."

As he turned his back on the rest of the occupants of the room, he could almost feel the uneasy tension build. It was so thick he was sure he could reach out and grasp it with his fingers.

_Gonna be a real long night,_ he thought.

- oOo -

Rogue felt her entire body grow cold. It wasn't like the chill of an evening wind, or even the sharp bite of a frosty drink. It was a complete and instant freezing of the very blood in her veins. Her limbs stiffened and she stood as still as a statue, fighting to comprehend the words that were prodding at the edge of her consciousness. As soon as they were partially registered in her mind, she yanked her hand away from his grip so quickly that she almost lost her balance.

"What did ya say?"

He smiled once again, but somehow it wasn't as reassuring to her as it had appeared a few minutes ago. "I was the one who sent you those things," he repeated, moving toward the modest dining table that was set in one corner of the room. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he faced her once more. "The letters, the necklace, the flowers. I trust that you received them all?"

Her head was spinning with so many thoughts, so many questions, but the most prominent of which was, "W-why?"

"Because you belong with me," he answered simply. "You always have. Since the day I first saw you performing in that club five years ago. A bright, young star -- shining even brighter than the two beside you."

She took a step back, attempting to distance herself, but her legs bumped into the coffee table. "What are ya talkin' about?"

"You had so much potential," he continued, disregarding her question altogether. "The makings of an ultimate performer, and I had to have you." His eyes became hard and bitter. "But then you began fawning over that Cody boy, that good-for-nothing hick who clung to you like a parasite. It took some planning but he was finally taken cared of."

Her eyes widened. "'Taken cared of'?" She abruptly realized that she hadn't heard anything about Cody since the day they had broken up. Charles wouldn't have...

_No, that's imposs'ble!_ she mentally screamed to herself. _Not Charles, who was always s'pportin' us an' helpin' us with whatevah we needed._

A realization hit her. "You rigged our career!" she cried out incredulously. "You manipulated th' people at th' label inta likin' our music. All that hard work 'Ro an' Jeannie an' Ah went through didn' mean diddly squat 'cause you were back there pullin' strings an' influencin' people!"

For a moment, he looked shocked at her sudden accusation. "I most certainly did not. Whatever success the three of you had was completely on your own merit. I had no hand in it."

She narrowed her eyes. Was he telling her the truth? She found herself wanting to believe him, wanting to believe that anything they'd received was a result of their own talent and dedication, and not on account of Charles' sick sense of favoritism. She regarded him warily. He was still leaning against the table across the room, serenely sipping his wine. His stance was placid enough, but she disliked the way his eyes shifted from emotion to emotion with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

Nervously, she slipped her hands into her pockets, a habit she had whenever she became too jumpy and one that she'd been trying to break. Her fingers brushed against the cool surface of her cell phone. At first, she was startled by its presence and couldn't really recall what the object was, but before long relief flooded her system. She had a way of getting help.

_Ah'll have ta be careful 'bout this,_ she thought, slowly unfolding the device, unseen in her pocket. _Can't let him know what Ah'm doin'._ From the corner of her eye, she could see Charles pouring himself another glass of wine, all the while reminiscing about their first years in the music industry. Hastily, she switched her cell back on and slipped her finger to the keypad, automatically reaching for the number that would speed dial Remy's own cell. She waited a few breathless moments for the call to be put through and almost collapsed with joy when she heard his frantic voice echoing from the earpiece.

Unfortunately, Charles seemed to have heard it as well. He raised his head and asked, "Did you say something, my dear?"

"No," she replied, swiftly lowering the volume on her phone, simultaneously praying that he wouldn't find it and take it from her. "Must be a TV or somethin' in th' apartment next door."

He apparently accepted her explanation and continued with the task of refilling his wine. She inwardly sighed with relief and hoped to God that Remy could hear the ensuing conversation. She had every intention of learning the stakes with which Charles was playing, and if anything happened to her, she would need someone to bear witness.

- oOo -

The second his phone started to ring, Remy's heart began to pound. When he caught sight of Rogue's name on the screen, it started to thunder. But when he was met by silence, he felt it being painfully squeezed like a rubber toy.

He caught the sound of a male voice, one that he couldn't quite recognize because it was slightly muffled, as if the speaker were across the room. Then Rogue's voice floated through the open line and he knew a small instance of peace. She was alive, and judging from her tone, more or less okay. She'd been prattling about a television in the next apartment before a rustling noise met his ear. He could only assume that she had somehow covertly opened a channel so that they'd be able to get a fix on her position. As soon as that insight entered his mind, he realized the danger she must have been in.

_She called me so dat I could hear what's goin' on,_ he thought, his eyes suddenly growing wide. _Putain de merde! Dat was her stalker in de room wit' her!_

He emphatically stomped his foot against the floor several times to get everyone's attention. In the past thirty minutes, after Logan put his call in to Detective Cassidy, the living room had been filled with police offices and their equipment. When the other occupants of the room finally turned to him, he mouthed Rogue's name and pointed to the phone.

"I want a trace on that call now!" Cassidy hollered to his men.

Seconds later, the room was alive with activity. Left and right, officers were scurrying about, fulfilling their superior's orders. One detective took the cell phone from Remy's hands and placed it onto a specially designed cradle that would allow them to both trace the call and broadcast it through the connecting speakers. In the next instant, Rogue's voice was heard clearly throughout the quieted room.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked loudly. It sounded as if the person she was speaking to was several feet away from her.

The man whom Remy had heard earlier responded. "I intend on taking you away from here, from the insanity of this city and this business. The public has had sufficient time with you. Now it is my turn."

The man was distinctly familiar but for some reason, Remy couldn't place him. He knew that voice, but he couldn't recall from where he knew it. The answer tickled the outskirts of his brain, mocking his incapability to remember. In the end, it was Rogue who jogged his memory.

"Charles, don' do this," she beseeched.

_Charles?_ Remy's head jerked back in surprise. Judging from the others' expressions, their reactions mirrored his own. "_Mon Dieu…"_ he breathed in disbelief. "Back at de theatre... we delivered her inta de hands o' de devil himself."

- oOo -

"Do you have a specific reason why I should not 'do this,' child?" Xavier mocked, slowly sauntering toward the sitting area.

Rogue backed away as he advanced closer. "Vic's already called Logan. They'll be here any minute." Her voice was defiant, confidence jammed into her words.

He scoffed. "I doubt that, love. I doubt that very much."

"An' what exactly is that s'pposed ta mean?" she asked hotly. Her tone had hardened in the last few minutes. Any reasonable person, she knew, would be nervously cowering in a corner at that point, when confronted by a man who'd been stalking them for months. But she adamantly refused to do so. There was a part of her that simply could not perceive Charles as a viable threat. She felt safe enough, and was certainly angry enough, to demand answers out of him.

The corner of Charles' lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Mr. Creed," he emphasized, "knows better than to cross the man who is supplying him with a very handsome salary."

Surprise and then distaste played across her features. "You corrupted him?"

A hearty laugh escaped his lips. "My dear, Victor Creed has long since been corrupted. Long before I took him on as an employee."

"He lied earlier, didn' he? When he told us that he was gonna call Logan an' th' othahs ta let 'em know where we are. What else have you got him lyin' 'bout?"

"Just about anything I want. Were you aware that he was the one who slipped the hallucinogen into Remy's drink that night in Los Angeles?"

She was becoming increasingly annoyed by the amount of unexpected bombs he was unloading on her in such a short span of time. "What?"

"The drug in Remy's drink," he explained, calmly easing himself into an armchair while she remained standing a few feet away. "That infamous night when he was _supposed_ to have impregnated Genevieve. I spent several weeks setting up that situation and the man didn't even have the decency to take advantage of the perfectly willing female in his bed," he spat out in disgust.

"You _hired_ that girl ta seduce him?!"

"You sound surprised, my love. I was only doing it for you." Sighing, he steepled his fingers and elaborated further. "Frankly, you have the worst taste in lovers. After Cody, the johns simply become more and more unworthy of your affections. Especially, this latest one: LeBeau. I will see him dead before he causes you any further pain. It was time you realized that you and I are rightly suited."

Shaking her head, she whispered, "Yoah crazy."

"Hardly. As for your previous question, I did not hire Genevieve. I simply made her an offer she did not want to refuse."

"Hired, paid, bribed -- all th' same deal, mistah."

He ignored her sarcastic comment. "Genny had been David's girlfriend for a time. Their relationship might have evolved into something deeper had it not been for one thing: her obvious obsession with Remy LeBeau.

"It wasn't even the normal fan-celebrity fanaticism. She was obsessed in every sense of the word. Quite bluntly, it drove David insane. He finally made the decision to break up with her. I, on the other hand, saw an opportunity. It didn't take much persuading to convince Genny to go along with my plan. In fact, she was more than willing to sleep with LeBeau, conceive his child, and leave you and I completely free of his repulsive existence.

"But the cad couldn't stay drugged long enough," Charles grumbled bitterly. "He realized Genny's intentions and promptly booted her from his room, leaving me with no tangible evidence that he had forced himself on her."

"Th' scandal. Th' paternity suit. That was all yoah doin'."

He nodded. "You wouldn't have believed him to be the snake he is unless you had evidence of his betrayal. And so I gave it to you."

"So she ain't even pregnant." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

"On the contrary, she is quite pregnant. In her fifth month, if I'm not mistaken."

"But you jus' said that Remy refused ta sleep with her. He ain't th' father."

"He's not."

"Then who...?" Her sentence trailed off as the thought slowly entered her mind. With wide eyes, she uttered, "You. It's yoah baby she's carryin'."

"Not according to the courts," he countered. "For all intents and purposes, the child is LeBeau's, and he has accepted responsibility for it."

"Only 'cause he was ordered to!"

"In your own words, my dear, it's 'all the same deal.' Unless he can prove that the baby is not his, LeBeau will be spending the next eighteen years supporting another man's child."

"An' how did you falsify th' results o' th' paternity test?"

He smiled at his own cleverness. "It's amazing what ex-lovers are willing to do to fulfill old debts. Moira had several... favors that she owed me."

Lowering her gaze, Rogue tried to make sense of everything he had just confessed to her. He'd admitted to planting Genevieve in Remy's hotel room with the sole purpose of ruining his reputation and placing him in legal jeopardy. And all on account of their being 'destined' to be together.

She wrapped her arms around herself as a shudder ran through her body. "That's quite a fancy scheme ya got there, Ah'll admit. But you didn' bother ta consider th' fact that Ah don' belong with you, Charles. Ah love Remy."

"And yet here you are with me and not with him."

"Ah'm only here because we were avoidin' th' man who was follo-- " Her eyes snapped back to meet his. "Who was that followin' us before? Someone else who owes ya a 'favor'?"

"Not exactly. His name is Erik Lehnsherr, a friend. It was his son, Pietro, who grabbed you outside the theatre. I needed a feasible excuse to get you to this apartment."

"This apartment who no one s'pposedly knows about?" she sneered. "Whose name is on th' lease?"

"Genevieve's. This was her home until I arranged for her move across town."

"An' Ah s'ppose yoah th' one puttin' th' cash inta her bank account."

For a moment, he looked taken aback by her words, but then he smiled. "I see LeBeau has been conducting a little research. The payments are for medical expenses and any other supplies she may need for when the baby finally arrives."

"You've jus' about thought o' ev'rythin', haven't ya?"

"I've covered my bases, so to speak."

"Not quite. What's ta stop me from walkin' right out that front door?" she asked, gesturing behind her. "Hole number one in yoah master plan, sugah."

She pivoted on her heel and began marching toward the exit. Halfway to her destination, she heard the distinct click of a firearm being cocked and stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned around. The barrel of the gun was aimed directly at her chest.

"I have waited for you for a very long time, Rogue," he intoned leisurely. "I swore to myself that I would bring you to me by any means necessary." Staring at her intently, he stressed, "Any. Means. Necessary."

The cold chill of fear seeped into her body once again. He had just pushed himself into the category of 'viable threat.'

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the matching armchair across the coffee table. Silently, she obeyed. "Even if I had let you leave this apartment," he continued, "there is no place in the world you could go without my knowing. In this city, on tour, down in New Orleans. Even Logan's cabin in Canada. No where." He noticed the slightly questioning expression on her face at the mention of Logan's getaway home. "I take it you weren't aware that Logan and I are both veterans of war. You learn a lot about a man while serving in the same platoon."

"He's part o' yoah...?" It was difficult to form the thought much less ask the question.

"No," Charles answered without hesitation. He watched as Rogue sighed in relief. "He has too much honor," he sneered the word, "to even consider such actions."

It was then that Karen chose to rejoin them in the living room. "Rogue!" she called cheerfully, busy counting the dollar bills in her hand as she entered. "You should join the poker game the guys have set up in the backroom. I am killing them. Looks like those tips Guido gave me are -- " She froze when she caught sight of the gun in Charles' hand. "Oh, my God."

- oOo -

"Drive faster!" Raven shouted at the officer behind the wheel.

They were speeding across town, traveling toward the apartment complex where Xavier was holding Rogue and Karen. The police trace had taken a few minutes longer than usual because of some form of scrambler field surrounding the room Rogue was in.

_Homme was prepared,_ Remy assumed, pressing his cell back against his ear. They had disconnected the phone from the bulky tracing device and had reattached it to a more mobile one. Cassidy and a handful of other detectives were listening in through several taps into the line.

A few moments earlier, they had heard Rogue threaten to walk out the door. The simplicity of the threat was so absurd it almost made them smile. Logan had laughed out loud when they told him what she'd said. He beamed with pride, stating, "Girl's got brass."

Over the clicking of Rogue's heels against the flooring, they weren't able to catch the sound of the gun being cocked, and so they were somewhat puzzled at her voluntary return into the room. It was only by Karen's reappearance and reaction that they recognized the cause.

"He's holding them with a weapon," Raven murmured, horrified. Her eyes briefly met with Remy's as the realization hit them both. Twin expressions of panic rose to their faces just before Raven began yelling at the driver of the police van.

From over the line, Remy could hear Rogue attempting to reason with the man keeping them hostage.

"What's gonna come o' this, Charles?" she asked. Judging from the crinkling noises, she had risen to her feet. "Where can we poss'bly go that th' police won't be able ta find us?"

"Smart move, kid," mumbled Logan from beside Raven. "Tryin' ta get him ta talk so that even if they jackrabbit, we'll be able ta follow 'em."

"The New York Police Department has its limitations," came Charles' response to her question. "I doubt very much that their reach extends outside the coun-- " A soft rustling noise came across the phone. "What are you -- ?" His voice abruptly became clearer and much louder as he bellowed, "Insolent little witch! How long has this line been open?" A moment of silence passed before, "How long?!"

"Long enough fo' them ta throw yoah backside in th' state pen," Rogue shot back audaciously. "Ah'm willin' ta bet that th' cops, with all their 'limitations,' are on their way right now ta arrest yoah sorry self." Her voice sounded steady and strong, full of disgust and contempt for the person she was speaking to.

_Almost dere, mignonne,_ Remy answered her unconsciously, more to appease himself than anything else. _Almost dere._

She carried on with her provocation. "Way Ah hear tell, prisoners ain't all that welcomin' ta rich, white folk. 'Specially not _famously_ rich, white fo-- "

A sudden gunshot echoed in their ears, followed almost immediately by a deafening scream.

----

**A/N:** * Okay, I HAVE to know! Who among you had an idea of who the stalker was? Even an inkling of an idea? Anyone?

* Like I said before, this chapter was not an easy write for me. Keeping things moderately suspenseful was harder than I thought, so I need to ask a favor of you guys. If you _do_ review (and I'm gonna throw away my pride here and beg you all to!)...

P L E A S E D O N ' T M E N T I O N T H E S T A L K E R B Y N A M E I N T H E R E V I E W B O A R D !

This is just a precaution so that the 'mystery' (I'm deluding myself into believing this fic actually _has_ mystery...) isn't ruined for other readers. You all know how I just _llooovvvee_ torturing everybody with suspense! ; )


	18. Fallen

**Disclaimer: ** Sorry, the disclaimer is out being potty-trained. 

**A/N: ** ; ) 

~ Dragonseizer, JADEOBLUE, Rupeshwari, Jean1, Lucky439, ilovetidus, Immortal Ninja, Chez, ishandahalf, V, Christy S, -- Aww, you guys! Thanks so much for the reviews! Quick! GROUP HUG! *frowns in confusion as no one makes a move* ... Oh, right... sorry! Forgot about the straitjackets we're all wearing! 

~ bluefirez, the scoundrel -- I was just curious; when did you figure out who the stalker was and what were the things that tipped you off? (For future reference. If my sanity is stable enough to take on another brain-killing fic such as this. If you could email me instead of leaving it on the Board, that'd be great. Thanks! : ) 

~ Malena -- May I ask, what made you think it was him, and why did you dismiss the idea? (Again, for future reference. Am I _actually_ considering doing another fic? I must be delusional or something!) 

~ Broadway -- Hi, you! I was beginning to think you'd abandoned your stories, as well as all your adoring fan fiction groupies! If you don't post a new chapter soon, I'm gonna persuade all your readers to join me in storming your house and forcing you in front of your computer! I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course... ; ) 

~ kez -- That's what I said too, and look where it's gotten me! Damn nuthouse shrinks! They're shifty little bastards! Again, nicest way possible... 

~ Disturbed Courtney -- HAHAHA!!! I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the 'insane line,' my friend! ; ) 

~ missy42 -- That's okay. I knew you caught the last chapter 'cause I saw the review you left on Disturbed Courtney's _Street Livin'._ School's giving you problems, huh? I say smack it on the head with a 2x4 until it behaves itself properly! At least that's what I do... 

~ lovelyaceinthehole -- Thank you! Sleep deprevation on account of a fic is always a nice compliment, in my opinion. Tell your professor it no longer matters whether you're asleep in class or not because you'll be joining us soon in the loony bin! (It seems to be a mandatory requirement after reading this darn story! : )   


**CHAPTER 18   
Fallen**

They were eerily silent as they approached their destination, barely a sound moving between them. The open sky above was surprisingly lenient, unexpectedly cool for the season, as if to match the solemn mood. The soft ground beneath their feet crunched slightly under their weight, yet resiliently bounced back after their passing. As they neared the designated area, the atmosphere surrounding the gathered group changed. Tension hung in the air, as if it were only in that moment that they realized the reality of the situation. 

It was really true. She was gone. 

He stared blankly at the open grave, her casket hovering only inches above the deep hole in the earth. The gleaming, midnight blue surface was adorned with a spectacular array of flowers, as was the immediate area encircling the gravesite. Something she would have appreciated, he thought with bitter irony. She had loved flowers. 

From a distance, it seemed, he heard the priest's voice begin the ceremony. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The words floated about him but weren't quite strong enough to penetrate his senses. His mind kept wandering back to memories of that night. 

They'd reached the apartment complex a scant five minutes after the open line to Rogue's phone had been cut. Before their vehicle had even come to a full stop, they were on the ground, scrambling after the police into the building. They silently made their way up to the appropriate floor, trailing after the armed officers. The hallway was quiet and deserted. Policemen, protected by body armor, positioned themselves on either side of the door. Cassidy signaled to them, granting them permission to enter. Nodding to the other members of his squad, one officer raised his leg and slammed it into the lock of the door. In perfect synch, he immediately twisted out of the way and allowed his colleagues to charge into the apartment. 

From their relatively secured location in the adjoining hall around the corner, they could hear the shouts of the policemen ordering the occupants of the room to relinquish their weapons and sprawl out onto the floor. Moments later, the echoing sound of shots being fired reached them. 

"What are they doing?!" Raven had screeched, rushing forward. "They'll kill her!" 

Before she could go any further, an officer stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path. "You can't go in there, ma'am." 

"The devil you say! That's my _daughter!"_ she hissed at him. "Get out of my way!" When he didn't move, she drew her fist back, preparing to strike him down. 

"Raven, stop," Logan ordered, grabbing her wrist. The tone of his voice allowed no argument; her arm went limp in his grasp. 

For what felt like hours, they waited in agony for the all-clear sign to be given. However, judging from the steady sound of bullets being exchanged, Xavier and his team weren't making it easy for the police. Remy had listened closely to the noises filtering back to their position. He was trying to pinpoint Rogue's voice; an outcry of fear or a groan of pain -- anything that would indicate she was still alive and breathing. But there was nothing. 

Blessedly, the gunfire ceased. A few moments later, they heard an officer call out, "Area's secure, sir!" from within the apartment. 

Another officer urgently cried, "Dammit! Where the hell are those paramedics?" 

That had been all the prompting that Raven needed. She pushed past the officer that had barred her way before, and burst through the open doorway with the speed of lightning. Remy could still recall the horrific scream that had emanated from her as she first caught sight of the living room. The walls had been riddled with bullets and the furniture hastily upturned to serve as impromptu cover against the gunfire. The glass top of the dining table had been shattered and the artwork on the wall all but destroyed. But the cause of Raven's bone-chilling scream was near one of the armchairs. A large pool of blood had stained the floor crimson. 

Too much blood. 

She hadn't been able to survive the blood loss. A gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet had pierced a lung. She had died there. In _his_ apartment. 

Xavier had been arrested, taken into custody by the police. It took all his self-control to not tear the man's throat out. He knew if he had tried, Hank and the others would have stopped him. Not that they hadn't felt the same way as he had, but they still would have stopped him. 

Overhead, in the trees scattered about the cemetery, he could hear a chorus of birds fluttering back and forth. Their happy twittering seemed to be the only cheerful thing in the vicinity. As he watched, one flock precariously launched themselves into the sky, disturbing the tree branches and creating a cascade of fallen leaves. From his vantage point, it almost looked as if Mother Nature were weeping too, grieving for her lost child. 

Slowly, his gaze drifted to the crowd gathered around her grave. The number of people that had come to mourn her passing was staggering. Friends, family and media alike; all shedding tears for the loss of one so young. The vehicles alone that lined both sides of the curb now made the narrow road leading to the spot nearly impassible. He took some comfort in the fact that she was so well loved. As cliché as it may have sounded, he was glad that her spirit would live on in each of their hearts. 

The priest had concluded with the prayers and final blessing, ending the ceremony by sprinkling her casket with Holy Water. Gradually, as she was lowered into the earth, those in attendance approached one by one, honoring her with fresh flowers and silent words of farewell. 

Their group was the last to leave, waiting patiently for the larger mass to dissipate. When they were gone, he drew near to her and knelt down. He placed a single white rose on the newly packed soil. 

_"Au revoir, chèrie,"_ he whispered. 

---- 

* I don't know how or even _why_ it turned in this direction. But despite what you may be thinking, no, this is not a dream sequence. 

* Next up *   
Epilogue 


	19. Darkness Before the Dawn

**Disclaimer: **The disclaimer is currently having its teeth cleaned for the customary Last Chapter photo session. I advise everyone reading to do the same. You wouldn't want the photographer to catch you with spinach in between your teeth, now would you?

**A/N: **Would you look at that! We crossed over the 200 review mark! *quickly glances left, then right, then starts dancing like a lunatic that's had too much to drink*

* I know, I know. I sure did take my sweet time with this one. Umm, Rupeshwari, you wanna tell everyone why that is and who's responsible for it? ; )

~ Lucky439, Erica, Disturbed Courtney, bellevuedrive, T., BJ, Jean1, Malena, Darkwolf, ilovetidus, Rupeshwari, Charisma, Marvel -- Thanks so much! I'd try to count all the exclamation points and capitalized words of horrid disbelief but honestly who has the time to go through all that? ; )

~ ishandahalf, missy42, Immortal Ninja, kez, Chez, The Great Misanthrope -- Oh yeah. You all are SO coming with me to the nuthouse... ; )

~ JADEOBLUE -- Let us out of the straitjackets? Are you kidding me? They're making me type out the chapters with the tip of my nose! Do you know how hard that is?! As for your other question: yup, I plan to write other stories. What can I say? I'm insane and clearly have every intention of torturing myself... again and again. (Dude, I am SO pathetic...)

~ DragonBlond -- I'm sorry, what? I heard the words 'Remy' and 'sex symbol' in the same sentence and my mind just started to wander...

~ V -- Don't _do_ that! *sniff, sniff* I'm a very sensitive person (neurotic, though I am). If you start to cry then _I'll_ start to... *sniff, sniff* Damn it! *proceeds to bawl like a baby*

~ Amazon Neners -- Hmm, becoming a writer... Voluntarily submitting myself to the painstaking process of banging my head against the wall every time I hit a story pothole. Being hunted down by savage plot bunnies with razor-sharp teeth and talon-like claws. Spending an excessive amount of time recuperating in mental hospitals from the dramatic repercussions of such twisted stories as this... Nope, can't say that I have thought about becoming one. ; )

~ Shelbster -- I know. And from the looks of the other reviews, everybody agrees with you. Hell, even _I_ do! ; )

* Just to inform everyone, the administration at the asylum has asked me to list down the names of the expected new arrivals. If you feel that you are in need of mental reevalutaion after completing this fic, feel free to sign up via the cute little blue button at the bottom of the page. (Ahh, stop pretending you don't need it! No one -- and I mean, BUT no one -- can possibly be sane after reading this damn fic!)

**CHAPTER 19  
Darkness Before the Dawn**

Remy's senses took note of the acrid taste of coffee washing over the inside of his mouth. One of the disadvantages of being away from home was that the caffeine beverages varied from city to city just as much as the people residing within them. It was on days such as this that he missed _Tante_ Mattie's special blend. One cup of her brew was enough to jolt him awake in the morning and keep him alert for the rest of the day. He'd never been fool enough to actually ask what went into the concoction -- the rich, flavorful taste was simply too good to question -- but whatever it was, he was sure he didn't want to know.

As it were, the instant cup of 'coffee' nestled in his hand would have to suffice for the time being. After all, he wouldn't be in Los Angeles for that much longer. He was catching a flight out of the city later that same morning.

His week and a half stay had been successful, from a professional standpoint. After a three-month hiatus, work on his third record had officially begun, starting with this trip's intensive studio visit. Circumstances and conflicting schedules had forced him out of his self-imposed withdrawal from the limelight and into a hotel room clear across the country to rendezvous with several producers.

They were delayed, in his opinion; the work they were currently doing should have been accomplished months ago. But after the funeral, he simply couldn't bring himself to concentrate on recording. It was ironic, in a way. Music had always been a solace to him, a comforting hand to wipe away life's little pains. It should have soothed him, as it always had. But in the days following the service, it was a blatant reminder of everything that had been lost. It had taken him twelve weeks to get back on the proverbial horse. And even then he knew it wasn't the same.

Picking up his coffee cup, he stepped out onto the balcony of the penthouse suite. With the careless abandon of one who had never been afraid of heights, he leaned over the edge of the concrete railing, watching the endless stream of human life pass below him. There were too many feet of air and space separating him from the busy streets, but he could still make out the dull echo of the sounds of midmorning traffic.

It was strange how the world pushed forward with its everyday routine, despite the fact that _his_ world had been turned every which way from Sunday in the past eight months. He knew it was extremely narcissistic of him to believe that the events in his life would somehow affect the lives of everyone else. But it still felt... strange to slip back into that routine as if everything were still the same.

He glanced back at the balcony door when he heard the shrill ring of his cell phone. No doubt it was Mercy calling to make sure he was awake and on schedule for the morning. If not his sister-in-law, then it was probably one of the producers with some last minute suggestion on one of the tracks they'd been putting together. Whether he was ready for it or not, work was pulling him back into its clutches with all the subtlety of a freight train.

Leaving behind the sun-shiny view, Remy stepped back into the suite to answer the call. Across the room, he saw Hank and Damien steadily devouring the breakfast feast laid before them.

"Allo?" he said into the mouthpiece.

"Remy LeBeau?" The voice was unmistakably female, with a slightly nasal tone to it.

"Who is dis?" It was an abrupt and rude question to ask, but three months of being incessantly hounded by the media had made him especially cautious. There was also the fact that this was his personal line, and no one save his family and friends knew how to reach him through it.

"My name is Sandy McKenna. I'm a writer for _Starwatch_ magazine. I wanted to ask you some questions, if you wouldn't mind."

Remy sighed mutely. He _did_ mind. There was nothing he wanted more than to terminate this call with a quick press of a button, but his southern upbringing wouldn't allow him to do that. Especially since the woman was being polite despite her nosiness.

"How did you get dis number, Ms. McKenna?"

"A source," she evaded. "I was wondering if I could meet you for lunch. No sense conducting an interview on an empty stomach. I know of an excellent Italian restaurant in the city. My treat."

"No offense, _chère,_ but it's been three months already. Dere's no more story left t'tell."

"On the contrary, Mr. LeBeau, there is _always_ a story to tell. So, are you available for lunch?"

"_Merci, chère,_ but _non._ Unfortunately, I have other plans."

"Hmph. You've never turned me down before."

He started at that. "Excuse me?"

"Ah said, you've never turned me down before."

Remy nearly jumped at the warm breath and soft southern drawl that brushed against his ear. A revealing look over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions: Rogue was standing not a foot behind him with a cell phone pressed to her ear and a wicked grin plastered on her face.

"You havin' fun, _petite,_ playin' tricks on me?" He ended the call and tossed the phone onto a nearby chair.

Her grin grew even wider as she mimicked his motions and discarded her own phone. "Oh, def'nitely, sugah."

She laughed heartily as he closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms, lifting her a few feet into the air. After allowing her body to slide back down along his frame, he captured her mouth and drew her into a fevered kiss.

"Hey, go get a room or somethin'," Damien called from the dining table. "Some of us are tryin' to eat over here."

Rogue smiled as she broke their kiss. Quickly sneaking in one last peck on her lover's lips, she whispered, "That's not such a bad idea, sugah. If we had more time, Ah'd be inclined ta use that li'l suggestion."

Remy returned her smile and mirrored her hushed tone. "Ya early, _chèrie."_ She'd insisted on going out of her way to meet him in California, after she concluded some business in Minneapolis, so that they could fly back to New York together.

"Blame Logan. Man bet me fifty dollars that Ah'd make ev'ryone late."

An amused smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "An'?"

"An' mah pocket's now fifty bucks heavier. Y'all ready ta go?"

He nodded. "We c'n leave as soon as dose hogs over dere get done wit' deir breakfast," he answered in a louder tone. His statement was meet with several grunts from across the room.

Rogue settled herself onto the sofa and reached for the newspaper that had been thrown haphazardly across the coffee table. Rustling through the pages, she asked, "How'd yoah studio session go?"

He followed her to the couch and reclined against the backrest. "S'all right. Got ev'ryt'in' we wanted done an' den some. Dazz says hi, by de way."

She leaned back into his body, his arms automatically fitting around her. "Ah didn' know Alison was producin' a song fo' you." Finally finding the section she wanted, she read, "Nine letters, capital o' Kentucky."

"Frankfort," he answered. "Yup. Ali an' me, plus her hubby. Cute pair, dose two."

"Are they still here? Thirty-first president o' th' United States, six letters."

"Hoover. _Non,_ dey left f'r Europe a couple o' days ago. Vacation, dey said, but more like a third honeymoon, if ya ask me."

She glanced up at him. "Ah wish Ah could've caught 'em. Ah haven't seen Longshot in ages." She continued with their crossword puzzle. "Four letters, type o' fish."

"Tuna." Stroking her hair, he stated quietly, "Dey were askin' 'bout you, _belle._ Dey heard 'bout... what happened."

She nodded quickly and returned her attention to the newspaper. "Tuna doesn't fit. Th' first letter's _h_ an' th' third is _k,"_ she reported. "Hand me a pencil, would ya, sugah? There should be one in mah bag."

He eased himself away from her just enough to reach over to the chair next to them. He took note of her reluctance to discuss what had happened with Xavier. This wasn't the first time she had shut down a conversation when the topic was brought up. It had been months since that fateful night, but she still had trouble speaking of it.

"_Chère,"_ he began, handing her the pen he'd retrieved from her bag, "I t'ink you need t'open up 'bout what happened wit' Xavier." He felt her stiffen in his arms. In an attempt to soothe her, he brushed his lips against her temple, murmuring, "I know ya don' like talkin' 'bout it dat much, but _not_ talkin' 'bout it is hurtin' ya more. Ev'rybody's worried 'bout you, _petite:_ ya _maman_s, ya brother, Logan an' de boys, Jeannie an' 'Ro, but most especially me. Ev'ry time someone mentions it, ya change de subject faster dan a bat outta hell. Ya can' keep it all inside, _chèrie;_ it'll make you crazy. Talk t'me, love. Let me be here f'r you."

His little impromptu speech was meet by utter silence. He wanted to sigh in frustration. She was shutting him out... again. He'd been trying to break down the walls she'd erected around herself since the night of the awards show, without success. The only people she had spoken to about the incident were the police, and that was done in a stiff, robotic manner, and only because it was essential to give them a detailed description of the events.

But she never talked about how that night made her _feel._ How everything was affecting her on an emotional level. It would be child's play for anyone to identify the obvious feelings that came as a result of such a traumatic situation: fear, hatred, helplessness. However, they wanted _Rogue_ to acknowledge those emotions. They wanted her to release the pent-up feelings that were locked down tight, and express them in her own words. And the longer it took for her to do so, the more worried everyone became of the inevitable explosion.

"Rogue?" Remy uttered softly, ever aware of the fact that she hadn't relaxed her rigid posture against him. Leaning forward slightly, he saw that she was staring intently at the gold pen he'd handed her. "_Mignonne,_ what's wrong?"

She jerked her head, as if having been jolted out of her thoughts. "What?"

He brought a hand down to lightly fan across her stomach, rhythmically stroking in an almost hypnotic manner. "Ya starin' at dat pen pretty hard. _Pourquoi?"_

"No reason," she muttered.

That was not an answer he wanted to hear. Tilting her face to meet his gaze, he asked again, "_Pourquoi?"_ It was now more of a demand than an inquiry.

She hesitated. Pulling away from his hold and lowering her eyes, she reluctantly replied, "It... it was Karen's. Ah borrowed it from her a few days before... before..."

She didn't finish her sentence. Instead she pulled even further away from him and buried her face in her hands. Although she made no sound to indicate it, he knew she was crying. The obvious shaking of her body left no question. His heart twisted painfully at the quiet sobs that were tormenting her. This was worse than if she had screamed and wailed like a banshee. There was nothing he could do to stop the silent anguish that had its claws deep into her soul. And he hated that. He hated the fact that he was helpless to fix her hurting.

He reached out and drew her back against his body, whispering soothingly to her, cooing and rocking her as if she were a frightened child. Later, if he had been asked, he wouldn't have been able to recall exactly what he had said. The words that tumbled from his lips were a mixture of both French and English; whether they actually had any meaning would have been anyone's guess. But that didn't seem to matter to Rogue. It was the rich, smoky tone of his voice and the warm, loving arms around her that registered in her mind. And it was more than enough.

From across the room, Remy caught the questioning glances of both Hank and Damien. He nodded to them and politely gestured them out of the room. Judging from the wetness of his shirt, Rogue had freed her previously unshed tears, and it would be a while before she was calm enough to speak.

By the time she was finally ready, his chest was soaked two times over and her blouse was horribly wrinkled from where Remy had held her tightly. Her tears had ceased, replaced by the occasional hiccup that jumped into her lungs.

"Shh, _ange,"_ he lulled, drawing back so that he could look at her fully. He cleared away both hair and tears before cradling her face in his hands. "S'okay. 'M here." He closed his eyes, then kissed her brow softly and rested his forehead against hers. "S'all right, _petite._ Ev'ryt'in's gon' be okay."

"You don' understand, Remy," she whimpered. "It was _mah_ fault. It was all mah fault."

His eyes snapped open and he once again pulled away. For a few moments, all he could do was gawk at her. Of all the possible emotions she could have exhibited, guilt had been the very last he expected to see.

_She's been holdin' onta dis guilt f'r all dese months?_ he thought. They'd been expecting an emotional outburst of some kind, but not one such as this. They were thinking more along the lines of screaming, ranting and general anger toward Xavier and anything associated with him. They'd had no idea she was placing the blame on her own head. Remy couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed any signs, that he hadn't seen what she was doing to herself. But then again, he'd been too busy thanking Heaven that she was safe.

He couldn't recall a time in his life when he'd been more afraid: walking into that apartment, hot on Raven's heels, and being presented with the sight of the woman he loved sprawled on the floor with Karen half on top of her, a large pool of blood surrounding them. The world had blackened and robbed him of all his senses, save the excruciating pain in his chest. He remembered stumbling numbly toward her and being barred by the paramedics. Raven had been screaming and crying at the same time, the police officers barely able to restrain her from rushing to her daughter's side. After several agonizing minutes, Rogue's voice had floated back to them, snapping at everyone to attend to Karen since she was the one bleeding so profusely. The relief that he felt the second he heard her speak was immediate and intense, causing his legs to give out and forcing him to his knees. He had never been so glad to hear her temper before.

And yet here he was again, feeling utterly helpless in making her hurt disappear. It was another shot to his heart to realize that he had missed this reaction completely. But he would be damned if he'd let her continue with her self-inflicted guilt trip.

"_Non, chèrie,"_ he told her. "It's not ya fault. Stop talkin' crazy."

"She died 'cause o' me," Rogue said solemnly. Her words were no louder than a breath, so light he had to strain to hear them.

Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. "_Listen_ t'me. Karen's death is _not_ ya fault."

"Yes it is," she argued. "She was there 'cause o' me. 'Cause Ah asked her ta come along with us ta th' show. 'Cause Ah... Ah..."

"Dat's bull, _chère,_ an' you know it," he spat out. "Dere's only one person t'blame f'r dis, an' ya damn well know who it is. He's de one dat was stalkin' you all dose months; he's de one dat took you an' Karen hostage; he's de one dat held de two o' you by gunpoint. _He_ pulled de trigger, _mignonne._ Not you."

She shot off the couch and away from Remy as if she'd been burned. Wrapping her arms around herself, she cried, "He would've never pulled that trigger if Ah didn' start shootin' off mah mouth like there was no t'morrow!" She looked back at him. "Ah provoked him, Remy. Ah was gettin' in his face an' practic'lly darin' him ta do it." Turning away in shame, she whispered, "Ah might as well have pulled th' trigger mahself."

Stomping toward her, he thundered, "Don' you dare say dat! Don' even dare. Xavier is sick, demented. Stop puttin' yaself down 'cause o' him. What he did was horrible, tragic, an' as a result, we lost Karen. But make no mistake, Rogue, _he_ did it." He softened his tone and drew her in his arms. "I know you miss her, _chèrie,_ an' I know you feel guilty 'bout her death, but dere's not'in' you could've done dat would've made t'ings diff'rent. Not'in'."

She began to sob once again against his chest. "Ah feel so responsible," she whispered brokenly.

"I know you do, _belle,_ I know. It may take a while f'r de pain t'go away, but it'll get better wit' time. An' I'll be here f'r you, ev'ry step o' de way... whatever you need. I promise."

- oOo -

Jean reached over to grasp the hand of the woman seated beside her. "How're you doing, Dixie?"

Rogue gave her a weak smile, but didn't respond. Instead, she gently squeezed her friend's hand as a sign of appreciation for her support.

The two women were settled in the entertainment room of the southerner's New York home, along with the rest of Rogue's friends and family.

"Man, Hank, Trish sure is thorough," Damien stated from his position behind the couch.

Hank nodded. "That she is, my friend."

The group had been gathered around the television set for the past half hour, absorbing the special investigative reporting that was airing. Hank's girlfriend, Trish Tilby, had been covering the story since it had broken out three months ago following the incident in Xavier's Manhattan apartment. The program they were currently watching was a follow-up piece to Trish's much-talked-about special entitled _The Xavier Files._

"I still cannot believe it," Ororo murmured. "All this time working with him, and never knowing..." Her voice trailed off.

"Never knowin' what a nutcase he was," Guido finished for her.

Scott added, "Or that he had a son." He shook his head. "I worked so closely with Charles for so many years. I had no idea."

"No one did." Raven adjusted her position next to Irene. "The man was brilliant. He deceived us all."

From the back of the room, Sam called, "Does anyone else find it ironic that now both father an' son are spendin' time in th' loony bin?"

"Woulda thought they'd throw Xavier's ass in jail fer what he did ta Karen," grunted Logan. "They ain't even gonna put him ta trial."

Jean was shaking her head. "He was evaluated by a psychiatrist, and deemed incompetent to stand trial. _That's_ why they committed him to a mental institution."

"Hopefully, he's sharin' a cell with his wacko son," Guido grumbled.

Rogue winched at her bodyguard's words. Of them all, she knew that Guido missed Karen the most. The two of them had been on the way to becoming very good friends. Whenever they had to attend a public event, he would be just as concerned for Karen's safety as he was for Rogue's. She knew that he was beating himself up about sending them both with Xavier that night outside the theatre. She recalled the pure anguish she saw on his face when they were told of Karen's death. It was a look she hoped she would never have to see on another human being again.

_She was so young,_ Rogue thought sadly. _Her whole life ahead o' her. If she an' Guido had gotten t'gether..._ She shivered at her own whimsical thinking. _That's not poss'ble. Not anymore. Karen... Ah'm so sorry..._

"They are at least convicting Victor for his crimes," Peter said, breaking into Rogue's thoughts. "For aiding Xavier in his schemes."

Logan practically growled at the mention of Creed's name. "That traitorous son o' a..." He slid a cigar into his mouth to keep himself from cursing further. "I hope he gets life in prison four times over."

"What about the doctor at the laboratory?" inquired Bishop. "That Dr. MacTaggert?"

Hank spoke up. "She faces charges of conspiracy, just as Victor." He sighed deeply. "I almost pity her. She was a well-respected doctor in her field. And now, because of one bad decision..."

"Remy," Irene called suddenly to the young man who cradled her daughter in his arms. "What of the charges against _you?_ The statutory rape and the paternity suits?"

It was Mercy who replied in her brother-in-law's stead. "Dey've been dropped, both o' dem. De police were able t'record de conversation over Remy's cell, an' dey're usin' dat as evidence o' Xavier's confession."

"Oh hey, check it out!" Bobby cried as he turned up the volume on the television. "That's the girl that delivered the flowers backstage."

Sure enough, the tall, attractive blonde from that night was shown exiting a car escorted by her lawyer and protected from the swarm of media by several police officers.

" -- Emma Frost," Trish was saying as the entourage made their way into police headquarters, "daughter of Edward Frost -- headmaster of the prestigious Frost Academy in Boston, Massachusetts -- was brought in for questioning for her part in this case. It is still unclear exactly what connection Emma had with Xavier. Police are still investigating..."

To Rogue, the words seemed to drown on without truly registering in her mind. Nearly half of the program had been lost on her, actually, but she wasn't about to admit that to the others. She'd gotten the gist of it, mostly: Charles was mentally ill; no one had the slightest idea, since he was the president of one of the biggest recording labels in the music world; he had chosen Rogue as the target of his fixation; he had created an elaborate plan to 'bring her to him,' which resulted in Karen's death; and he was currently being treated in an insane asylum, along with his son, David. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood all that, knew that it had significant meaning to her; but all she could see, as pictures of Charles kept flashing across the television screen, were memories of his face looming over hers in his downtown apartment.

She remembered all too clearly taunting him when he had discovered the open telephone line, challenging him to do something before the authorities arrived to throw him into the state penitentiary. She recalled the vivid expression on his face, as if something inside him had simply... snapped. The echoing from the bullet's discharge was deafening. A second later, she felt Karen's body slam into hers and they fell to the floor; but not before Rogue's skull impacted hard on the side of the coffee table.

She valiantly fought to stay conscious after that, but the task proved to be more than a little difficult. Her mind understood the fact that there was something heavy weighing down the upper half of her body, but for the life of her she couldn't identify what it was. Xavier's face appeared just within the boundaries of her vision, a sardonic smile painting his features.

"Stop fighting me, Rogue," he said almost tenderly, brushing away the stray tendrils of her hair. "You just keep hurting the people you love. Now look what you've done to poor Karen."

_Karen?_ she'd thought desperately, coming back to herself slightly.

But before she could do anymore, the front door of the apartment had burst open and police officers were ordering everyone to freeze. As if from a distance, she heard the responding fire of Xavier and his men. Charles had turned over the armchair next to them and was using it as a meager shield against the authorities. Vic and the other bodyguards were holed up in the bedrooms and had better options for evading the onslaught of bullets. However, they had no real exit from within those rooms. It wasn't long until all four men were taken into custody.

Immediately after the firefight ceased, Rogue had felt hands pulling Karen's body away. A sickening feeling washed over her as she felt warm, sticky liquid spill onto her abdomen as they rolled her assistant onto her back. Rogue admired the professionalism that she heard in their voices as they relayed orders to one another: "She's bleeding bad! She's been shot! Start an I.V.! Check for an exit wound! Give me two milliliters of..." But she found herself extremely annoyed and frustrated when they couldn't hear her weak protests that she was all right. When she finally gained enough strength to demand that they attend to Karen first, it came out harsher than she'd originally intended.

And now three months later, the finality of everything still hadn't seemed to sink in yet. She had been the one who had insisted on watching Trish's coverage of Xavier's on-going case. A morsel of closure, somehow. She wasn't really sure if it was actually working for her. So far, all she was doing was reminiscing about the night Karen was killed.

_It helped... if only a little,_ she realized reluctantly. She was home, wrapped snugly and warmly in her lover's arms, surrounded by nearly everyone she considered her 'family.' Both her bogeymen were locked up tight, with little chance of ever escaping again. An odd clarity came over her and she recognized the misplaced emotion she was experiencing at that moment: she felt safe. After so many months of worrying and looking over her shoulder, she knew that she was once again safe.

"You okay, _chère?"_ Remy murmured in her ear. His arms tightened protectively around her, as if by doing so he could ward off any pain she might be feeling.

"Ah... Ah think so, Remy," she whispered back, turning slightly so that her forehead brushed against his lips. "It's better."

He nodded and then returned his attention to the TV where the program was coming to a close.

"Thank you for joining us on this special news report on _The Xavier Files: Anatomy of Obsession._ My name is Trish Tilby. Until next time, good night."

Quietly, Bobby switched the television off. The room quickly followed suit, a hush reverberating across the space. It was Damien who eventually broke the silence.

"So, that's it?" he asked. "It's over?"

There was another pregnant pause before Remy answered, "_Oui, mon ami._ It's over."

Raven was unmoved. She looked over to her daughter in concern. "Darling?"

Rogue raised her eyes to meet her mother's and smiled faintly. "S'okay, Momma. _Ah'm_ okay."

It was not a completely satisfying response for Raven, but she found it more encouraging than the blatant denial that Rogue had been doing for the past several months. She knew the experience had scarred her daughter for life, but Rogue was never one to let anything get in her way. Raven was confident that even though Rogue would never _forget,_ she would certainly move on.

"All right, then," she continued, standing and helping Irene to her feet. "What do you all say we head downstairs into the dining room and have dinner? Rosemary has been working in the kitchen all afternoon."

Not needing any further prompting, the occupants eagerly rose from their seats and filed out of the room.

"You two comin'?" Logan inquired, as he passed the couch where Rogue and Remy remained.

Rogue looked at him. "Inna minute, sugah. Save us a seat, would ya?"

"Sure thing."

"An' tell Bobby an' Sam ta save me some mashed potatoes!" she hollered as an afterthought. They could hear Logan's answering chuckle echoing back through the doorway.

Remy peered down at the woman in his arms. "Somet'in' wrong, _petite?"_

She twisted in his embrace so that she was half-facing him. In accordance with her movements, he propped an elbow on the couch's backrest and rested his head against his hand. His other hand absently stroked the skin of her bare arm, sending excited little tingles throughout her body.

"No," she replied, "nothin' really. Jus' thinkin' how lucky Ah am, ta have all o' you with me."

He grinned impishly. "Good dat you know it." Nodding toward the quiet TV, he questioned, "Dat don' bother you anymore?"

She looked into the direction he indicated. Staring at it for a moment, she sighed. "Ah'd be lyin' if Ah said it didn't, an' maybe it always will. But you were right, Remy, it's gettin' better with time."

Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "_Je t'aime, chèrie."_

"_Je t'aime aussi, mon amour."_

He stared at her in surprise. "Dat's de first time you've spoken French t'me."

"Oh?" She blinked at him innocently. "Well, Ah figured with th' way you keep butcherin' th' language -- an' people actu'lly _acceptin'_ it -- well then, maybe Ah could get away with it, too." She shrugged indifferently. "Ah think mah first attempt was all right, wouldn't ya say?"

Disbelief at what she had just said was clearly written across his face. It was immediately replaced by a devilish smirk that sparked in his eyes.

"Butcherin', eh?" His hands slid down to her sides and began mercilessly fluttering over her ribcage. She squealed in shock and tried unsuccessfully to push his hands away.

Squirming and laughing at the same time, she breathlessly pleaded, "Re-Remy... stop..."

"Do ya give?"

She shook her head from side to side, tears streaming down her face from the incessant tickling. "N-no..."

"Well den, dere's not'in' I c'n do."

"O-okay... okay..." she gasped, falling onto her back. Remy's hands never lost contact with her torso. "A-Ah... give..."

"'M sorry, _quoi?"_ he teased. "Didn' quite catch dat."

"Ah give already!"

With one final tickle, he ceased his attack and smiled down at her flushed face.

"Yoah cruel, sugah," she whimpered at his smug expression.

"_Sans doute._ [Without doubt.]" He assisted her to her feet. "You hungry yet?"

"Starvin'." She let him take her hand and lead her out of the room. "Beatin' you down takes a lot o' energy."

He flashed her a sarcastic smile. "'M sure." Looking down, he asked, "You still got it?"

Her face lit up alluringly. "In mah pocket."

"When're we gonna tell dem?"

"Not jus' now." She hurried forward and kissed him deeply as she remembered his little surprise for her upon returning home to New York. Something that he'd been meaning to give her for some time, he told her. "Ah wanna keep it ta ourselves fo' a li'l while. Our li'l secret."

His gaze locked intently on hers. With nothing but seriousness in his eyes, he whispered, "I love you."

"Ah love you, too," she whispered back.

And with that, they made their way downstairs to rejoin their family in the dining room.

Rogue's hand slipped into her pants pocket and fingered the exquisite diamond ring that rested there.

*** The End ***

* You didn't really think I'd keep them apart, did you? C'mon! They're my favorite X-Men couple ever! Separating the two of them by any means would be like shooting myself in the foot! *glances down in confusion* Hey, how come there's blood on my shoe?

* I can't believe it! We're done! *falls to the floor and starts kissing the ground* After so very long, it's finally finished! Somebody slap me. *backs away as one too many readers eagerly volunteer* Okay, that was just a figure of speech!

* Ironically enough, this story was never meant to be this long. Honestly, it was only supposed to serve as a short, getting-back-into-the-fanfiction-world kind of thing. At the most, it should have spanned about five chapters. But at the end of Chapter 3, after Jean1 pointed out a flaw in one particular scene, the plot went in a slightly different direction than what I'd originally intended. I'm pretty happy with where we've gone, and I really thank Jean1 for that first review.

* I'm gonna miss working on this fic. *sniff, sniff* But I gotta tell you all, it was A LOT of fun! Thanks again to everyone who ever left a review! I'm gonna miss catching your names up on the Review Board. Seeing as this is the last chapter... how about humoring a poor, mentally unstable writer who is about to be hauled away to the funny farm, by leaving a review? C'mon, this is the last chapter, man! (And I SO should be sleeping right now, but no, I'm sitting here typing Author's Notes... Did I already say I was pathetic? 'Cause I can say it again, y'know.)


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